


Asphyxiation

by MidnightEternal



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Aftermath of Torture, Ambiguous Inquisitor, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, BAMF Krem, Bathing/Washing, Comforting Bull, Comforting Chargers, Dehydration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhausted Krem, Exhaustion, Family units, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Hurt, Hurt Krem, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injured Krem, Injury, Kink Meme, Light Deprivation, Nightmares, Non-Magical Recovery, Overworking, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Chargers, Protective Dorian, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Self-Blame, Self-Hatred, Self-Isolation, Sensory Deprivation, Skin Hunger, Sleep Deprivation, Solitary Confinement, Starvation, Survivor Guilt, Survivor's Syndrome, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Touch-Starved, kink meme prompt, post-torture, protective Bull, protective Krem, self-punishment, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-20 00:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightEternal/pseuds/MidnightEternal
Summary: They were his family, and he let them die one by one, except they didn't die, and only he knows the truth of what happened in that cave, tied up like a wounded animal. He can't forgive himself, so why should they?Krem and the Chargers are taken prisoner and separated. While held hostage, Krem is forced to decide who dies, and one after the other, he believes them all to be dead by his own hand. Bull and the Inquisitor come to their rescue, but the damage has been done, and Krem is guilt-ridden, injured, and more than a little broken inside. He decides the best thing he can do is stay away from his family, and ventures off on several solo missions, some he doesn't expect to come back from. Bull finds the mission report almost too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was an old prompt from the Dragon Age Kink Meme that I came across. The post requested a fic where the Chargers are taken captive, and Krem is separated from them and made to decide which one of them dies each time he's asked. It was up to the author whether or not they actually die (not happening, not happening). Then they're found, and Krem becomes terrified of the consequences of his decisions, and tries to alienate himself by taking solo suicide missions and duties around Skyhold. 
> 
> This fic was largely completed over a year ago, with a couple of chapter revisions during the year, but I decided to finish it for you guys before the year's end, because let's face it - where in the world have I been for the past year? And so, with a fic the length of a novella: Happy Holidays. <3 I'm writing the last chapter as I'm posting, so fingers crossed for completion soon. 
> 
> PLEASE READ THE TAGS, I DO NOT WANT ANYONE TO BE TRIGGERED.
> 
> There is one particular person in this world who has stood by me for the last few years. They're excited for this fic. It is my gift to them, and to all my readers. Thank you.

The mission was supposed to be easy; a few Red Templars, nothing to worry about, nothing they hadn’t faced before. But once they reached the clearing in the east of the Hinterlands, they immediately knew they were outnumbered, and utterly screwed. 

The infected Templars came from all directions. They wouldn’t give an inch, bearing down on each of the Chargers, easily fighting them five to one. No rest, no time to think or take a calming breath, just the clash of weapons caught in a power struggle; The Bull’s Chargers trying their best not to be taken down. 

They lasted longer than any other team would have. They were built to take hard hits and beat the odds… Just not this time. Not without Bull there to back them up. They were missing their powerhouse on a mission he was so desperately needed on. But Bull was with the Inquisitor, and this mission was supposed to be easy. Scout the area and cleanse it of the reported threats. _Easy_. So why had the intel been so wrong?

They’d subdued each of the Chargers, tying rope around their wrists and shoving them to their knees. They took their weapons, handing them over to a few of the lackeys in the group. The Chargers all rested back on their legs, some hunched over in pain, but others, like Krem and Dalish, remained looking up at their attackers, bold, and with clear distaste in their expressions. All of the group were bruised, and more than a little worse for wear; their bodies scattered with long, shallow cuts. The Templars hadn’t been aiming to kill any of them, not yet, at least, but rather to beat them down and exhaust them as quickly as possible. 

Krem had taken one of the worst blows, trying to fend off attacks to his teammates. His breathing was shallow, unnoticeable to an untrained eye, but to Stitches, who had mentally catalogued each injury within moments of being placed in the line of sight of his teammates, it was a simple catch. With nothing more to do than wait for the Templars’ next move, he’d seen the stiff way Krem had fallen to his knees, and the way he was focusing on his anger rather than simply staying quiet. He was letting his body breathe as naturally as it could right now, to focus on the possible breaks in his ribs would only cause a problem. The less injuries the Templars knew about, the better. 

One of them, in thicker, shinier, armour than the others, bent down to face Skinner, his scarred face a mere inch from hers. His grin was demented, too wide, spread across his teeth like his mouth was an open wound. 

“Who’s in charge of you?” He spits at her, growling low in his throat. 

She doesn’t answer, turning her face slightly away. Still confident, despite their predicament. But there was no way out for them now. They’d barely managed to dispatch the few Templars that they had; happily cutting into the breastplates of the bastards before the rest of their force had come down on them. Krem used her defiance as a happy distraction, using his deftly trained fingers to tug down the blade hidden under the back of his armour and slice open the palm of his hand. The blade was pushed back into place, and he re-focused on the man towering over Skinner, glaring at his closeness to her. They were trapped, but that didn’t mean they had to submit. 

“Who?!” The Templar yells, pulling Skinner up by her hair, his fingers grasping the locks tightly. He tugs, sharply, which causes her to wince. 

Rocky pushes his thigh against Krem’s, a silent request for their Lieutenant to stay out of it, but the more the Templar leader shakes Skinner around, the more agitated Krem gets, and just as the man goes to reach for his sword, his crazed face promising something dark, Krem snaps; trying his best to struggle free from the Templar holding him back and surge forward to be at Skinner’s side and help her. 

“I am! Leave her the fuck alone! You want anything, you talk to me, take it out on me!” he yells, the smallest note of pleading in his voice as he looks at Skinner, struggling to get free from the leader’s grasp. 

“Oh, feisty, we’ll have fun with this one,” the Templar replies, dropping Skinner back to the ground as roughly as possible, and stalking over to Krem. The prowl of a tiger hunting its prey.

He pulled Krem up from the grasp of the other Templar, rough in his handling, hands gripping at him and too-long nails digging into any part of his forearms not covered by armour. He’s dragged away from the clearing, being led by rope, the others following behind him, deeper into the nearby forest. As they walk, he subtly squeezes his hand, causing blood to run from the self-inflicted wound. Anytime they pass close enough to a tree, one of his team stumbles, and gives him a moment to push his bloodied hand against the bark. If they can’t escape, this way... This way, at least Bull could easily find them.

A cave lays at the edge of the trees, seemingly cut into the mountain itself. They’re walked in, and the torches are lit, illuminating the cave in firelight. There were several cages, cells, standing rusty and empty. 

“Take the leader to the back, don’t want them to get any funny ideas about escaping,” the Templar holding Krem’s rope said. 

Others come forward and push Krem towards a door at the end of the line of cells. As he’s shoved through, he throws back a wide grin at his team, hoping to give them at least some reassurance. He stumbles into the next room with rough hands at his back, keeping the grin on his face as his captors push him into the first cell available. Carelessly, he's shoved to the ground, but he only laughs as he falls, his hands still bound behind his back. They don’t talk to him, they don’t tell him what’s going to happen next. They just laugh, slam the door to the cage shut with a loud clang, lock it, and leave the room without a word to him. 

He sits, cross-legged, in the centre of the cell, taking in every detail around him, everything in the room he can use as a weapon. Next, he studies the lock to the cage, running through the different ones Bull had taught him to open. It’s old, but he recognises some of the components. It might be possible, but he’ll need to get out of the ropes binding his wrists together first. 

He manoeuvres his hands, fingers stretching and reaching for the knife hidden above his hip. It’s gone.

Too much time passes before the wooden door that separates the two rooms opens again. Krem has long felt the tightening of the skin around his cuts, the ache of the bruises that litter and discolour his skin beneath his armour, and the pressure that has built up in his chest, making his focus lax, and his ability to breathe fleeting, at best. 

The scarred leader swaggers over, the red lyrium infection of his skin catching in the light and making Krem cringe. He heads straight for Krem’s cell, putting one hand high on the bars and leaning there, looking down at the warrior. He pulls a small knife from his belt and dangles it before the cage. 

“Looking for this? My men spotted it just after we brought you in, wasn’t hard to take it from you while we pushed you around a bit,” he chuckled. “Your comrades are being pretty well looked after right now. They’re being fed, they get water. Unlike you, of course. Can’t give you the means to have strength, Maker only knows what you’ll try. Thing is, the boys are getting bored. Need some entertainment. So, it’s time for one of them to die. And you have to choose. Entertainment, y’see?”

Krem almost laughed, and honestly, if he’d had the capacity to at this point, he probably would have. Instead, he takes a breath, tongue flicking out to moisten his dry lips, and smirks. 

“Are you fucking with me?” 

The Templar smiles at his reaction, pulling a length of fabric from his belt that Krem hadn’t taken notice of. A piece of Dalish’s tunic. 

“There are... other ways I can keep them entertained. You do keep lovely company, and the men spend so long away from cities these days...” 

Krem snarls. “Don’t you dare, you bastard!” 

The Templar bangs the cage with both fists, the sound echoing around them, filling the silence that follows Krem’s words. 

“Then, choose! I have no remorse over letting my men rough up any of yours, or taking one of those pretty little things for themselves. I just find this more... entertaining. The struggle on your face, and the confusion on theirs. No way for you to communicate. They need their leader and you aren’t there, they have no idea what’s happening. They’re wary, yes, but they won’t know a damned thing until we take one of them and stick a dagger deep into their flesh! And we’ll tell them, oh, we’ll tell them that you choose. But if you don’t, we will. Either one, or all, Tevinter.”

Krem shook lightly, a maddening mixture of shock and anger. “No, you can’t. Kill me, kill me instead!”

“I’m afraid that option isn’t on the table, Tevinter. Either you choose, or we start taking away food. Or limbs, perhaps? Perhaps we _will_ play with one of those pretty elves you had with you? The boys could easily kill a few hours there, teach them their place. Under a human.”

“How dare you!” Krem raged, moving swiftly to his feet and coming to the bars to face the Templar. “If I get out of here, your head is the first to go! I will bury my maul into your chest!” 

“Temper, temper. Choose. Now, or we’ll take that pretty Dalish elf and teach her our rules,” the Templar smirked, reaching his hand through the bars as if to touch Krem. 

Krem backed off, watching the hand that had come towards him. He stilled, flicking his gaze back up to the Templar. “The dwarf. Take the dwarf.”

“Very good, well, I’ll leave you be,” the Templar sang, walking back out the way he’d came. 

The slam of the door rang through Krem’s ears as he fell to the ground, knees cracking off the stone floor. He relished in the pain, mind whirling. _Rocky_ , had he just ordered Rocky’s death? He thought of Bull, the great lummox with the big smile and the bigger heart. How was he going to tell the Chief? What kind of Lieutenant was he? He turned his thoughts to Rocky, to the explosions they’d made together, the bomb tests, the planning for missions. 

Gritting his teeth, he let his head drop, and for the first time in a long time, he prayed. Begging anyone, anything to stop this. He couldn’t hear anything from the other room, no sound leaked through the thick door. All he could do was wait in the dim firelight, breathing shallowly, mind whirling with every possible way the Templars could take the life of his friend. As he sat there, his body started shutting down; stress building on dehydration. He let his head hang, eyes slipping closed to lead him into a half-aware state. _Rocky_.

His breath came out in light gasps as the minutes, hours, possible even days went by. With no natural light able to reach this section of the cave, Krem couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The only contact he’d had so far was the asshole that had come to smirk at him. He stared at the only lit torch on the other side of the cage, focusing on the dancing of the flame in an attempt to concentrate on anything other than the pain lancing across his waist and chest. But even that couldn’t overtake the overlapping thoughts of his loss. The only family he’d known for years, and he was responsible for the death of one of them. The thump of wood on stone pulled his focus, his gaze moving over to the now-open door. 

”You’re looking a bit peaky, Tevinter. Lack of water not agreeing with you? Maybe you shouldn’t have struggled so much,” came the smarmy voice that made Krem’s skin crawl. 

The bastard was too happy, always smiling or smirking, everything he did seemed to create so much joy for the Templar’s leader that he looked like he was a second away from laughing. It made Krem feel sick. 

He snarled at the infected man. “Fuck. You.”

“I’ll ignore that, since you’ve been so well behaved since we last spoke. It’s time again. I can’t have restless soldiers, you understand? Now, be good, and tell me who we’re killing next.”

Krem started to protest, to once again offer his life instead, but the man cut him off with a sharp laugh. 

“But we like watching you squirm, Tevinter! The men do laugh when I tell them about your reactions. Do I need to remind you of the consequences if you don’t comply? My men have already started pawing at the elves’ clothes, it’s difficult enough to stop them from actually tearing them off completely.” 

Krem struggled against his bonds, the rope scratching against the thin skin of his wrists and taking off layers, blood rushing to the surface and dying his skin red. The Templar came forward, slipping his sword through the gaps between the bars of the cage and using the tip to caress Krem’s neck. 

“Choose,” he whispered. 

Krem closed his eyes. 

“The blond human.”

The Templar laughed gleefully. “Wonderful, now, we’re getting somewhere. Until next time, Tevinter.” 

Black spots danced along the edges of his vision, time didn’t exist when his eyes couldn’t focus on anything. He couldn’t breathe. Rocky and Grim were gone. 

The slow drag of a sword tip against the back of his knee shocked him awake, an involuntary hiss escaped in his next breath as he shoved himself up from the ground. The Templar leader was crouched before the door to his cell, holding his sword in a tense grip, precise and deliberate in the long cut he’d made at the back of his leg. He smiled when Krem backed away, moving out of the sword’s reach. 

“Awake, are we?” 

The smile widened into a grin. 

Krem coughed lightly, throat dry. “The fuck do you want now?” 

The Templar threw his head back and laughed. “A bit of fun, of course! And you were resting so... Peacefully. I thought I should wake you up. I find that it’s difficult for people to escape when they can’t walk, don’t you? I couldn’t risk you actually getting out of those ropes, they were looking a bit frayed.”

The man pulled his sword from the bars, sheathing it, and sauntering up and down the length of the cell, humming to himself. 

“What now, what now?” He mused to himself. “I supposed I could take a break, maybe go and have some... water.” 

The mention of it widened Krem’s eyes. His skin was tight now, lips cracked and dry, his focus waning. 

“But no, no, the men are becoming restless again, yes, yes they are. Perhaps...” he looked at Krem, “Perhaps we should do something about that, yes?” 

“Go fuck yourself,” Krem croaked. 

The Templar laughed, face lighting up with mirth. “How wonderful! Still so spirited!”

His head was pounding and spinning at the same time, the Templar leader fading in and out of focus even as the bastard stopped to stand in front of him. 

“Choose, or I’ll take your knife and starting cutting away fingers.” 

“Don’t... Don’t hurt them. Hurt me.” 

The Templar’s smile stretched wider, manic and crazed. “We would, but... Hm. This is more fun. Choose.” 

Krem thought of those that were left in his family, Stitches would be needed if any of them made it out alive, he was the only healer that the company had, and Dalish’s magic, even if she wouldn’t admit to her grasp over it, would get them through anything on their way back to Skyhold. But Skinner... Damn. 

“The City Elf.”

Krem hated the laugh that burst forth from the asshole’s mouth. 

“Fine choice, Tevinter. I’ll do my best to make sure the men don’t touch her in any... Other way. Her body can join the others. A nice little pile we’re getting together in that first cage. Beautiful site for any other prisoners we bring in,” the man walked away as he finished his monologue, looking back with a secret smile before he walked back through to the other room. 

Krem collapsed into himself the moment the door slammed shut, everything burned, it was too hot, and the image of his family’s cold, pale, lifeless faces as they were piled on top of each other filled his thoughts. A sob ripped its way up his throat before he could stop it. He tried not to think of Skinner’s dead, blank gaze, and closed his eyes. He needed to rest. Surely, Bull would find them soon. 

His breathing was loud in his ears, broken only by the footsteps stalking across the room, and the menacing humming that echoed around the cavern. Time meant nothing now. Hours, days, weeks, it blurred, whispering in his ears like a half-remembered scream. 

“Only two left,” the Templar sang. “The human or the elf? Who next?”

He walked closer, putting his hands on the bars to the cell and smiling down at Krem for a moment before his expression changed into a snarl. 

“Who... next?”

Mind whirling, thoughts going by faster than a free horse galloping across an open field, Krem was silent. Bull still hadn’t come, but he’d promised. Bull said he’d always come if Krem needed him. Stitches, Stitches could hold his own in a fight, could patch him up, but... It was almost two days travel from where they were to Skyhold. Two days, why didn’t that make any sense? Dalish could get them there. Out of any of them, but they were all that were left. Stitches or Dalish.

“The human.”

“Interesting, interesting, holding out for hope that you can still escape? The elf does seem a bit more feral. Can’t blame you for wanting a knife-ear on your side. She’d already threatened to rip out a few throats,” the man laughed. Always laughing. 

Hope was dripping away like the blood that ran down his hands. He couldn’t remember when he’d started struggling again, only that the rope burned his skin. 

“Last one, Tevinter,” the smirk danced in front of him, but he couldn’t focus. 

“Why...?” Krem croaked, coughing. 

The laugh was back. Sinister and deranged. 

“Why ask for your choice? Even though she’s... The. Only. One. Left. Hmm?” 

Twitches of infected lips, smiling through red. Bodies piled up; his friends, his family, gone, they’re gone. Dalish. She’ll be gone too. 

“Because I want to hear you say it, I want to look you in the eyes and watch the last bit of fight fade away from you. Because I’ve enjoyed our game, Tevinter.”

Darkness closing in. 

“Take – Take me. Take me.” 

“No, no, I don’t think so, that’s not how this works,” humming, scarred lips pursing together. 

Blood running down the walls. 

“Choose.” 

So loud, echos of screams he doesn’t remember hearing bounce off the cavern walls. 

“Choose.”

He can’t breathe.

“...Dalish.”

“Good. It’s been fun, Tevinter. I’m sure you’re wondering what comes next? You’ve been here so long already. The next bit is less fun, for you, at least. But you’ll feel everything. It doesn’t take long for a human to starve to death after all.” 

The door slams in the distance, and the darkness comes again, dotting at the edges of his eyes. He pulls himself backwards, dragging his cut leg against the ground, and leans back against the stone. Blood keeps running down the walls. The rope on his wrists burns.


	2. Chapter 2

He sits curled up in the cell, turned towards the door, not knowing how much time has passed. His chest inhales sharply on a sob, lowering his chin down to hang his head, his eyes squeeze closed. In the distance, the sound of struggling becomes clear, the bash of something heavy smacking into something soft. A thud and a squish as an unknown object falls to the ground. The door that leads to the cavern is yanked open, but he doesn’t look up until the barred door keeping him locked away is ripped off its hinges, clattering to the floor where it’s dropped. The sound rings in his ears. The screams stop. 

Bull, splattered with blood, and a ferocious expression adorning his scarred face, looks down at Krem, and only when Krem has shifted his own gaze enough to meet Bull’s only eye, does the Qunari’s expression soften. 

“Chief?” Krem croaks out. “Chief?”

“Krem,” Bull rumbles, cautiously walking closer and crouching down as close to Krem’s level as he could be. 

The Iron Bull reaches around and slips a dagger through the rope on Krem’s wrists, carefully bringing each arm back around to the man’s front, where they lay, bent at the elbow, limp in his lap. 

“Chief?” He questions again, raising his eyes from the sight of his bloody wrists. 

“It’s me. I’m here.”

Krem suddenly surged forward, gripping The Iron Bull’s harness with both hands; twisting the material in his clawed grasp. “Chief, the Chargers, they’re –”

“They’re fine, Krem,” Bull reassured, gazing over his Lieutenant, checking for injuries. 

“They’re...” Krem drew in a ragged breath. “...Fine?”

Bull clasped one large hand against the back of Krem’s head, pulling the ‘Vint in close, gently knocking his head against Krem’s. “I don’t know what they’ve been telling you, but they’re all fine. A little banged up, though, not as much as you seem to be. They’re outside with the Boss, getting fixed up so we can take you all back to Skyhold.” 

“They’re... fine?” 

Bull sighed lightly, rubbing at Krem’s back with his other hand. “They’re fine, Krem,” he repeated, and then looked around the room with a frown. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you walk?” 

Krem laughed, mirthlessly; the sound choked-off and low. “I don’t know.” 

“Well, we’ll soon figure it out. C’mon, up you go,” Bull stated, hooking his hands under Krem’s arms and carefully lifting his Lieutenant to his feet. 

Krem wavered, more than unsteady, but determined to walk out of the cave and see the Chargers, all of them, healthy and whole. He put one foot forward, and immediately collapsed under his own weight, his legs giving out from underneath him. Bull caught him, wrapping his large arms around his Lieutenant, and holding him up. 

“I’ve got you. Steady now, no rush,” Bull said in a low, soothing tone. 

Krem reached up to grip at Bull’s arm as the Qunari helped him walk. It was a long and slow journey, made slower by the cut at the back of Krem’s leg, which led them past all the cells the Chargers had been kept in. Seeing them, and imagining them there, with only the thoughts of what could have become of them, made Krem’s mind swirl. He choked back a gag of despair, and focused on walking out of the cave with Bull. 

The rising sun was high in the sky, blinding with its rays of light. Krem squinted his tired eyes against it, searching out his teammates. 

There, atop logs and large boulders near a stream, they sat. All of them, no more wounded than they had been when they’d all been captured. Bandages covered all the cuts that Krem could remember them having, and though they looked tired, they were smiling and laughing. Their weapons close by; the dispatched bodies of some of the Red Templars Krem recalled laying in a pile near them. 

Krem breathed out, a sigh that was more than just relief, and continued limping forward with Bull’s help, tightening his feeble grip on the Qunari’s harness. The Inquisitor met them as they walked over, face contorted in concern as they glanced over Krem. 

“Don’t look so worried, boss. I’ll get Krem cleaned up, and then we can hit the road again. Thanks for getting me out here so fast.”

The Inquisitor waved him off. “Thank Leliana, if it weren’t for her spies in the area, we might not have ever known. I’m sorry the Chargers got caught up in this, Bull, we weren’t told that there’d be this many Red Templars.” 

Bull laughed. “Don’t worry about it, boss! They’ve faced worse, I’m sure they’re all fine,” he looked down at Krem. “C’mon, Krem-puff, let’s get you sorted out.” 

As they walked past the Chargers, towards the stream, all of the team held out a hand for Krem to brush against with his own as he walked past. Another reassurance. A simple _we’re here_ from each of them.

Bull lowered him down gently to sit on a low rock by the stream, just a little out of the Chargers’ earshots. He winced at every movement, gritting his teeth against crying out. Pain lanced through his ribs, dancing over every other part of his skin. Everything seemed heightened. 

He hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes until Bull lay the back of his fingers against his dirt-streaked cheek. Their leader was holding a water pouch on his lips, waiting for Krem to open his mouth. He did so cautiously, dry lips cracking at the stretch, and gratefully, though painfully, swallowed as Bull tipped the water into his mouth. The Qunari pulled back just before he started coughing, rubbing a hand up and down his back. 

“Bit worse for wear, aren’t ya, Krem de la crème?” 

Krem laughed, despite everything. “Goddamn it, Chief.” 

The humour still brought out a smile from him, even as Bull started loosening his armour and taking each piece of it off. 

“Krem,” Bull started, untying the straps that held armour to Krem’s chest. “We need to talk about what happened in there.” 

Krem flinched as Bull’s hand moved across his ribs. “Later, Chief. Please. I’ll... I’ll write everything in a report.” 

“Okay, Krem. But if you need to talk, I’m here.” 

Krem grasped Bull’s hand, wrapping his fingers over the edge of Bull’s palm. “I know.” 

Bull stared into his eyes for a moment, and Krem couldn’t help but wonder what he saw there. The tugging of his shirt moved his focus, making him gasp aloud as Bull pulled it off of him. 

“ _Maker...!_ ” 

Bull glanced over the discolouration of Krem’s waist, right around the lower right side of his ribs. 

“Stitches!” He called, voice carrying easily over to the man. 

The dark-haired man came running over, cursing, holding his usual bag of healing supplies. 

“For fuck’s sake, Krem, how the fuck –” he stopped, gaping at the bruises. “ _Shit._ ” 

Stitches took one look at the bruising that was partially covered by Krem’s binder and ordered him to take it off, Bull immediately stood in the way of anyone’s site. The soldiers and the Inquisitor wouldn’t be able to see past the Qunari’s ample frame. Krem’s shaking hands moved to loosen the strings, pulling the leather from his chest. The bruise stretched up his side, darker around the third and fourth ribs. 

“Damn, Krem, did you get this during the fight?” Stitches asked, feeling over the bruised ribs for breaks. 

Krem gasped, feeling Stitches’ hands run over the darkest area of his torso. “Y-yeah.” 

“Oh fuck,” Stitches announced, running his hands over the same spot and causing Krem to flinch. “Two broken.” 

“Well, shit,” came Bull’s input. 

Stitches pulled out bandages from his pack, winding them tightly around Krem’s waist and chest and tying them tightly. Krem grimaced at the feeling of them, shrugging back into his shirt as soon as Stitches passed it to him. 

“No binder. They’re tight enough, trust me. Fucking idiot, work on your defence, how the hell’d you get your ribs broken?” 

Krem didn’t answer, instead choosing to raise a hand up to his chest, breathing through another wave of pain. Stitches caught the movement, snatching his arm and pulling it closer. 

“The fuck...?” 

The healer glowered at the blood that stained Krem’s arms and hands. The infected cut on his palm, and the obvious rope burns that encircled his wrists. 

“Are you fucking with me right now? How the fuck? Chief, could you wet a cloth or something, need to do something about this now, before the infection sets any deeper,” Stitches asked, frowning and turning Krem’s hand around in his. 

Bull moved to the stream, soaking a couple cloths and filling a spare water pouch. Stitches pulled an elfroot potion from his bag and tipped it against Krem’s lips. 

“Drink, slowly, you’re dehydrated and you may not have realised it, but you have a fever.” 

Krem sipped at the flask, stopping every few mouthfuls to take in a breath. 

“We’re not this beat up, why the fuck are you? The fuck did they do to you in there?” The healer asked, taking the now-empty flask away from Krem’s mouth. 

The Tevinter took a shallow breath, knowing that filling his lungs too much would aggravate his ribs. “I’m fine.” 

“The hell you are,” Stitches grumbled. “Bastards barely said two damn words to any of us while we were in there. ‘Cept that one creepy asshole that kept going into the next room to you. Kept coming back laughing an’ shit. Was fucking weird. They gave us water, a little bread, but otherwise left us the fuck alone. Probably helped that Skinner kept threatening to rip their balls off. Made the guys fucking cringe.” 

“They didn’t touch you?” Krem asked, voice cracking. 

“Nah, barely did a damn thing. We were only in there three days, Krem.”

“...Just three days?” Krem said, a tremble in his hands that Stitches couldn’t help but notice. 

“Yeah, didn’t you know?” 

“No daylight.” 

“Ah. Shit,” Stitches responded. 

“We heard pretty much as soon as you’d been taken. Leliana’s spies are damn good at their job. Then it was just rounding people up and getting down here. Found that blood trail you left us leading from the battle-site. Nice work. Probably fucked up your hand, though,” Bull explained, crouching next to Krem’s left leg. “Rest your leg on mine, lemme see what we’re dealing with. Fucking horrible place to have a wound, makes walking a pain in the ass.” 

Krem slowly lifted his leg and rested his ankle on Bull’s knee, giving the Qunari some of the space he’d need to clean the wound he knew was struck across the back of his leg. Between the cloth going over his wrists, and the one efficiently cleaning off his cut leg, Krem was slowly losing his remaining awareness to the black shadows crawling up the side of his vision again. He felt the poultices being applied to the infected cuts, the coolness of the mixture welcome on his too-warm skin. 

As everything was bandaged, Krem let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. Bull moved out from under him, and stood, holding out one of his large hands to help Krem do the same. He rose slowly, putting weight back on his leg as cautiously as he could. It didn’t help, the limb buckled beneath him, making him lurch forward, straight into Bull’s arms. 

Bull wrapped an arm around his Lieutenant, pulling him against his chest. He looked down at the Tevinter’s closed eyes and frowned. 

“Stitches?” 

The man was already ducking to Krem’s side, calling the younger man’s name, and placing the back of his hand across his brow. 

“We need to get him lying down, Chief. Dunno what the fuck they did to him, but he’s dehydrated, exhausted, and has an infection on top of that. Fever’s not going away anytime soon.”

Bull pulled Krem up, hooking his arm under the man’s thighs, and resting his small form against his side. Krem’s head lay on his shoulder, his expression twisted with pain. 

“Right. Grab his shit, I’ll go put him in the cart, and then we’re getting the fuck out of here,” Bull said, walking back towards the rest of their company. 

Rocky stood by the cart they’d brought with them in case any of his team were badly hurt. He’d hoped to not have to use it. The dwarf glanced at him as he approached, taking in Krem’s unconscious form. He swung into the back of the cart, laying out one of the sheets across it and folding up a spare shirt for a pillow. Bull towered above the cart, hooking his other arm under Krem’s neck to support him as he lowered him down onto the sheet. His Lieutenant groaned as his back touched the surface. Bull watched his second-in-command’s eyes flicker open, staring up at the sky with confusion.

“I’ve got you, Krem. Go to sleep,” Bull rumbled. 

Krem’s eyes flickered to him, the twitch of a smile forming at the corner of his lips before his eyes slipped closed again. Bull carefully tugged his hand out from beneath Krem’s neck, and looked around to the rest of his team. 

“Saddle up! Let’s get the hell out of here! Stitches, you’re riding with Krem,” Bull announced. 

“Horns up!” The Chargers shout in reply. 

Stitches climbed into the back of the cart, switching out with Rocky now that Krem was settled. He sat, loosely cross-legged, facing their Lieutenant, wanting to be able to keep an eye on his face for any signs of discomfort. Krem’s hand twitched, sliding across the surface of the cart, shakily. His eyes flickered open, hand knocking against Stitches’ leg. 

“Did y’ find my knife? Bast’rds took it...” he mumbled, eyes dazed. 

Bull leaned over, knife in hand, mounted on his horse beside the cart. Stitches took it from him, and placed it in Krem’s uninjured palm, the left, luckily, a little further away from the healer, in case he was startled awake. Krem gripped it loosely, wincing at the movement of his wrist. 

“Th’nks,” he breathed, eyes closing again. 

Stitches looked up at Bull, frowning. 

“Better keep your distance, if he wakes up wrong, you’ll be the one taking the blow. I don’t want any more injuries, if possible,” Bull said, gazing down at them. 

“Aye, Chief,” Stitches saluted. 

The horses set off, the Inquisitor and several soldiers leading the party, followed by the Chargers, with Bull riding alongside the cart. The horses pulling the cart were smooth runners, and for that, Bull was grateful. Krem didn’t seem like he could handle being jostled around right now. 

They rode hard, through all of the fading day, straight through until nightfall. They could have kept going, but, looking over his team, Bull didn’t want to push them anymore than they already had been. Bull signalled the Inquisitor, who pulled the entire party to a stop as they reached the next Inquisition camp. They were still another day’s ride from Skyhold, making good time, and taking a path cleared exactly for this purpose. Every group of soldiers they’d passed on the journey had saluted them as they’d ridden past. 

Pulling into the camp, Bull dismounted, and looked around, glad for the tents that had already been set up. He moved to the cart, looking over Krem’s still-sleeping form. 

“Not heard a peep, Chief. Poor bastard’s knackered. Gotta wake him up for food, though. And another potion, too. Don’t think they fed him, Chief, not the entire time we were there. I’ve been able to get ‘im to drink a little, but he’s gonna need a lot more,” Stitches reported, standing with a stretch. 

Bull tenderly picked Krem up from the cart, laying the hand still gripping his knife over the man’s chest, he wouldn’t take it from him, it was obviously something Krem needed right now. At some point, Stitches had thrown a spare travelling cloak over him, but the ‘Vint still shivered beneath it. He took his charge to one of the tents close to the fire, and ducked inside, holding Krem close to his chest. The bedrolls were already laid out. He carefully lay Krem down, watching his face contort in discomfort, eyelids twitching. 

“Krem?” Bulled called, quietly, hand cupped under Krem’s head. 

His Lieutenant startled awake, fingers tightening even further around the handle of his blade, eyes flashing open. Anticipating this, Bull lightly placed his free hand over Krem’s, the weight keeping it in place on his stomach. Feeling the familiar touch, Krem’s confused gaze met his, and he felt his grip loosened beneath his hand. The man’s muscles relaxed, a hiss forcing itself from his mouth. 

“Damn. Sorry, Chief,” he whispered, flinching at the ache in his ribs. 

“No problem, Krem. Thought you might wake up like that,” Bull smiled gently. “Let’s get you propped up. You need to drink.” 

Bull sat back next to Krem, pulling his leg up and moving his second-in-command to recline against his thigh. 

“What I wouldn’t do for an ale right now,” Krem laughed, tightening his arm across his ribs. 

Bull laughed. “When you’re back on your feet, we’ll drink until you can’t stand anymore.” 

“Sounds like a good plan,” Krem replied, the shadow of a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips. 

“Right! I don’t care what’s going on, if you don’t eat, I’m shoving it down your throat,” Stitches announced, walking into the tent with a bowl in his hand. 

“Always such pleasant bedside manner, Stitches,” Krem said, shuffling against Bull’s leg. “...Can I get some water?” 

“Idiot, of course you can,” Stitches said, producing a water pouch from the bag at his hip. 

The healer passed it over, watching with a steady eye as Krem took a couple sips. 

“Slowly, don’t want it to come back up,” the older man advised. “Doesn’t look like they looked after you much while we were there.” 

Krem stopped drinking, looking up at Bull with an expression the Qunari couldn’t quiet place. 

“How long were we in there?” 

“Three... four days, at most. Don’t you remember Stitches telling you earlier?” Bull replied. 

Krem shook his head, negative. 

“Leliana’s people got word to us pretty quick, and it took us two days to reach you riding the way we were,” Bull continued, looking down at his Lieutenant with concern. “Why?” 

“No light where they... kept me. Seemed longer,” Krem shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. 

“Yeah? They feed you at all while you were there?” Bull asked, keeping the tone of the conversation as light as he could. 

Krem gave him a knowing look, but there was something underlying his expression that Bull still couldn’t pinpoint. “Nah. No water either. Surprised I’m still kicking, honestly. You’ll get the report, Chief,” he turned his gaze to Stitches. “Gimme, I’m starving.” 

Stitches passed over the bowl of broth, gaze running over Krem’s body. “Take it slow, if you throw up, I’m not cleaning it up. Chief, keep an eye on him?” The older human asked, waving a hand and ducking under the tent flap to leave. 

Bull made an affirmative noise, eyeing Krem as he took small sips from the bowl. His hands were still shaking, making him hold the bowl between them to keep it steady. Bull cupped the back of Krem’s head, mussing his fingers into his hair. 

“We’ll get you a proper bath once we’re back home. Day... Day and a half, tops. Need to have another look at those injuries too, we’re fucked if your infection gets worse,” he said. 

“I appreciate you looking out for me, Chief. I’m alright, really,” Krem replied, moving the bowl away from his lips. 

“We look after our own, Krem, you know that,” Bull eyed the half-empty bowl, and the arm that Krem had wound over his stomach. “You don’t have to finish it if you’re feeling sick. We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Krem sighed in relief, leaning over carefully to place the bowl near the tent’s exit. He took another sip of water, blinking sluggishly. “Sorry, Chief, think I need to sleep again.” 

Bull gently repositioned Krem’s body, tucking the exhausted man against his side, and pulling a blanket over him. 

“You’ve stopped shaking as much, sleep, you’ll feel better.”

“Night, Chief...” Krem whispered, shuffling closer to Bull’s warmth. 

“I’ll protect you,” Bull rumbled. 

Krem smiled, drifting off, listening to the small roars of Bull’s breath in his chest, and the sounds the Chargers made moving around the camp.


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn came too soon, startling Krem awake with the first rays of its light. He flung himself out of Bull’s protective embrace, breathing heavily, and hissing at the pain that flared through his body. He automatically wrapped his arms around his ribs, breath unsteady, chin to chest. His wrists still felt bound, the white cloth around them not deterring his mind from thinking the tightness was the rope looped about them. He shook himself, stumbling to his feet and pushing through the tent’s exit. His breath shallow, speeding up rather than slowly down, despite the light that he could so clearly see. His eyes hurt, the sun too bright and not bright enough, the darkness seeming to swallow him even as it was chased away by the new day. 

Limping away from the tent, unaware of anything other than the silence and the shadows that flickered across the ground, the flashes of red skin, of menacing grins and manic laughing. He dropped to the ground near an oak tree, digging the fingertips of his left hand into the ground, and clawing at the bark with his right. His palm stung, but he relished in the feeling. The feeling was real. The dark was suffocating him, but he gazed up towards the rising sun with closed eyes, trying to catch the feeling of its warmth on his face, yet blocking out his own source of light; it was too much.

Behind him, footsteps sounded, and a large hand gently pried his injured one away from the rough tree bark, he flinched; an involuntary reaction, pulling his hand away and wrapping his arm around his stomach, hoping to fend off the feeling of sickness. 

“Deep breaths,” Bull soothed, the low rumble of his vocal tones so familiar. The warmth that he needed, enveloping him and forcing the icy chill of panic away. 

He did his best to comply, taking in as large a breath as he could. He could hear Bull counting, the same soft in and out beat that he used each time one of them couldn’t calm down. It’d been awhile since he’d heard it, a while since any new, scarred, and world-angry soul had joined their immediate ranks. He let the breath go, and repeated the process, listening to Bull count. He felt lighter, like some unknown weight had been lifted from his head and shoulders, but something heavy had already settled in his chest, anchoring his heart with chains, and pulling down. 

He opened his eyes, flicking his gaze to Bull’s single eye. The Qunari, even as he sat next to him, towered above him, shading him from the outside world, familiar and welcome. He didn’t deserve that feeling of safety. Bull’s lone green eye stared at him, and though he could feel himself wanting to crack, to come apart at the seams, he knew he couldn’t. 

Bull reached out, putting his hand atop Krem’s head; another welcome touch. He leaned into it, the smallest tremble shooting through his limbs. 

“Wanna talk? The others aren’t getting up just yet,” the Qunari asked, lightly running his large fingers through Krem’s hair. 

“I’m okay,” Krem whispered, leaning his weight on his uninjured knee and pushing himself up. 

He stumbled, steadied only by Bull’s grip on his shoulders. He heard the larger male hum in feigned agreement, a note of sarcasm and disbelief. He could Bull’s gaze without having to look up to see it. They were far too fine-tuned as warriors and friends for them to not be able to read each other. The years together had seen to that. He still waved him off, taking a step forward out from under Bull’s grasp, only to start falling, his knee buckling. Bull caught him again, holding him up so he took some weight off of his cut-up leg. 

“...Thanks, Chief,” he swallowed, eyes wide. 

“Anytime,” Bull said, tucking his arm around Krem’s back for support as they walked back to camp. “You don’t wanna talk, I get it. But there’s something that doesn’t quite make sense and the others aren’t talking yet either. Why’d they separate you from them? You don’t usually give away who’s who when shit goes down. What changed?” 

Krem winced, at the question, and the feeling of the cut on the back of his knee dripping fresh blood down his leg. “They had Skinner, he... he had her. I couldn’t sit there and watch.” 

“Who? The asshole who was laughing when we came to get you? The other kids were just glaring at him, and he wouldn’t shut the fuck up. I personally buried my axe in his throat,” Bull responded. 

A chill wove its way up Krem’s spine at Bull’s words. He’d never forget that laugh. 

“Yeah,” he licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry of any moisture, making it difficult to talk. “Yeah, that’s the one.” 

“So you outed yourself?” 

Krem looked up fiercely. “I had to protect them!” He hissed. “But I couldn’t. I... I couldn’t.” 

“Krem, they’re all fine,” Bull said, gently, confused at his Lieutenant’s words. “You did fine.”

“But they weren’t. He had them. They,” he swallowed, mouth still dry. “They weren’t.” 

He stumbled again as they stopped at the burnt-out fire of the camp, almost going down this time, if it hadn’t been for Bull’s unwavering grip on him. His ribs protested, causing pain to etch itself onto his face. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” he cursed through his teeth, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“Stitches, you better be awake!” Bull bellowed. 

A sound of material whipping back was heard, and Stitches, fully dressed for the day, walked out of his tent, Grim following behind. 

“The fuck have you managed to do now?” Stitches grumbled, gaze taking in Krem’s expression. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Sit down.” 

Grim flanked Krem’s other side, and wordlessly, between him and Bull, they lowered Krem down, his injured leg barely moving, staying completely straight as he was seated. 

“I’m fine, stop, stop. I’m good,” Krem protested, mind reeling. 

“Shut up for two seconds, and let me see,” Stitches said, feeling around Krem’s ribs. 

Krem sat straight, uncomfortably so, spine stretched, trying to force himself not to move away from Stitches’ touch. He needed it, both the pain, and the feeling of familiar fingers on his skin, but he didn’t want the help. He was fine. 

“Relax, damn it,” the elder man berated him, lightly tapping just below his collar bone. 

His fingers pressed around the ribs they all knew were broken, and Krem let out a gasp of pain, a longsword flashing in his eyes, the glint of firelight on rusting metal. A quiet hand curled around his bicep as he threw his head back with a hiss, his own hands digging into the dirt below them. He wanted the pain. 

He closed his eyes tightly against that thought. 

“You’ve just jarred them, fuck all I can do. Rocky! Tell me there’s a potion floating about, for Maker’s sake!” Stitches called. 

The man looked over his hands, tsk-ing at the light scratches added to them. He cleaned them off quickly, wrists included, fresh cloth snaking around the broken skin. 

Krem felt the bandages on his leg being unwound, and opened his eyes, flickering his gaze to Grim’s hand on his arm and catching the man’s stare in a silent thanks. He heard Stitches curse again, and looked down. The cut had re-opened, blood splattered around the wound and still running down his leg. 

“Rocky make that two! And someone grab my bag!” Stitches turned Krem’s leg ever so slightly. “Deeper than I thought, that quick fix isn’t gonna hold this closed. This needs to be sewn up.” 

Dalish came over with Stitches’ supply bag, settling at Krem’s side, and pulling a potion from its depths. She held it out to him, watching with keen eyes as he downed the contents, grimacing at the taste. There was a section of Dalish’s tunic missing, and Krem felt his stomach lurch at the sight. He’d seen it. It the Templar’s filthy hands. He swallowed back bile, watching as Stitches rifled through his gear, pulling out a small box that contained several bone needles and thread. Selecting a curved needle, he shuffled over to kneel next to Krem’s leg. 

“Brace yourself, we’re not risking an infection,” Stitches said. 

Stitches, true to his name, made quick work of the cut, threading the needle in and out of Krem’s leg with the experience only a battlefield healer could have. Krem was tense during the entirety of the situation, but didn’t utter a word, or make a sound past the clack of his teeth gritting together. He watched his leg being sewn with the morbid fascination that came from watching a wound be closed up. Once Stitches cut the thread with a sharp pull, the man pulled a dark tan water pouch from the back, uncapping it, and giving Krem a warning glance. 

As a dark honeyed liquid poured out over Krem’s leg, he bit into the meat of his hand, below his thumb, muffling the scream that tried to escape. His back went rigid, shoulders tightening and drawing together, his knees locking up and only causing more pain. He hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes until he opened them again. Time seemed to have passed, but how much, he couldn’t tell. 

Bull’s hand was heavy and grounding on the centre of his back, laying right over his spine. He’d fallen over, laying half on his front, raised up from the ground. His head was on someone’s legs. Dalish’s. He recognised her clothes, and her small hands running through his hair. Skinner was looking into his eyes, judging how aware he was, the concern in her gaze told him that it probably wasn’t much. He could hear the rest of the boys beside him, hidden from his sight, they sounded worried, even as cloth was dabbed at his wound, drying it. Bandages were soon wrapped around his leg, that he now realised was elevated off the ground somewhat. Hands supported him, keeping his injuries away from the hard earth. 

Exhaustion was kicking back in, but sleep was evasive, like a shadow flitting away in the dark. He took a breath, feeling his body being lifted. Bull’s giant, but gentle, hands; always so careful. He was laid down on familiar sheets, the sound of horses and quiet chatter that sounded far away. Suddenly, he was moving, and different hand gripped at his. Small still. Skinner. He felt her fingers tighten around his. He took another breath, and surrendered to the darkness. 

A cautious hand lifted his upper body, supporting his neck. Something was placed at his mouth, but he didn’t open it.

“Krem, I know you’re tired, but wake up for a second,” a sigh. “You need to eat.” 

His eyes opened a small fraction, and he parted his lips slightly, allowing a warm, light broth to be tipped in. It didn’t take much time for him to let his eyes slip closed again, he heard Skinner huff as she took the bowl away. 

He woke to the sound of wooden wheels on stone, eyes twitching, and feeling a hand brush back his hair from his forehead. He was picked up again, and immediately, he could tell it was Bull. None of their other members could so easily lift someone without making a sound. He recalled moments of being carefully shaken awake to drink water, but the memories were faint. 

His head lolled to the side, knocking against Bull’s chest. His arms were folded loosely over his stomach, he wanted to move, but he felt so light. His eyes twitched again, he clenched them further closed, annoyed by their dryness, and blinked them open. Bull wasn’t looking down at him, but rather, focused on carrying him through the courtyard of Skyhold. They were home. He let his eyes fall partially closed, watching the world pass by as Bull carried him. It was almost dawn again, the sky was a dark blue, light breaking through the shades of midnight; he’d slept an entire day away. His stomach twisted at the thought. 

They made good time to the tavern, Dalish dancing around Bull’s form and nudging the door open quietly. The rest of the Chargers filed in, Bull following them. Krem took that time to gaze over them all, and truly see them all alive and in front of him. It couldn’t be a dream anymore, he’d woken up too many times and in too many familiar situations. This was real, and they were all here, in front of him, and so _alive_. 

Stitches looked stressed out, and a little tired. His skin was perhaps half a shade paler than Krem was used to, and there were purpling bags under his eyes. He looked healthy enough, but Krem couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt, knowing that, past looking after the others while they were in the caves, he would be the only reason the older man wasn’t sleeping. 

Grim, as pale as he was, simply looked sleepy. The two days on the road didn’t seem to have bothered him, and he was as quiet as always, though he stood a little closer to everyone, seemingly hovering around them. 

Rocky... Krem felt a sharp pain in his chest when he recalled that he’d told them to take Rocky first. _The Dwarf_ , he’d said, and though dehumanising him, for lack of a better word, hurt as much as everything else, Krem couldn’t afford for their captors to know any of their names. If they knew their names, they could make... could have made... it so much worse. But they were gone, Bull promised. And Krem was left with this soul-eating feeling of guilt that rotted his stomach and made it harder and harder to breathe. 

Skinner, she fought a little. Krem could tell. There was a fire there still, anger beneath the surface. Krem remembered her holding his hand. What did she know? What had they told her that stopped her from fighting them? Skinner would never willingly be calm. Not to any _shem_. Especially any that put her or her family in a cage. What broken promises had been made, what half-truths told? 

Dalish, still as defiant as she had been when they’d first been taken down. Glaring up at the bastards and whispering every elvhen curse word she knew. Her gentle touch, like Skinner’s, made Krem wonder again: what did they know, and did the others know it too? Or did they know nothing at all, and were just happy that everyone was alive? Just worried about Krem being hurt? 

The door to their barracks opening pulled Krem out of his musings, and it wasn’t long until he was laid down on a familiar bed. His ruined clothing was removed, soft hands checking the tightness of his bandages, his ribs aching even under the soft touches. A damp cloth on his skin made him flinch; the sensation didn’t feel right on his bare skin, it was like ice rubbing down his arms and legs, but he knew that Bull wouldn’t use cold water. He was wiped down quickly, a temporary solution so he could continue sleeping and bathe himself, probably with some help, later on. The bandage on his leg was changed, and he fought to keep himself from flinching away from their touch again. He didn’t understand why some touches he craved, and others made his skin crawl; like something creeping just under the surface. 

A light shirt was slipped over his arms, ties left open for easier access to his bound chest. As the blanket, soft, not his, either Dalish’s or Skinner’s, too soft to be his, was pulled up over him, he let his eyes flicker open. They were gathered around him again, some watching him breathe, or looking over every bruise and cut he’d sustained, but Bull, he only looked down into Krem’s open eyes. The large Qunari kneeling on the floor beside him. Krem lifted his arm, and lightly knocked the back of his hand against Bull’s chest. 

“Horns up,” he said, the ghost of his usual grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

Bull responded in kind, closing his hand over Krem’s and lightly squeezing. “Horns up. Get some sleep.” 

Krem couldn’t refuse an order, but the kindness in Bull’s voice. It was too much. This was too much. His eyes closed anyway, sending him back to the dark corners of his own mind. He tried to find blame in any of their faces, anything that pointed towards them being angry at him, but there was nothing. Just the usual worry that came with a hurt family member. Was he even family anymore? What would Bull do, once his report had been written and read? He dreaded writing down the details of those days outside Skyhold. What would the Chargers, his family, think of him then? He’d killed them, _he’d killed them_. Murderer. It was his fault, his decision, he’d gotten them killed. 

He slept fitfully, never truly dreaming, just remembering the laughing Templar, and all the strange and hysterical ways the infected man had walked or stood by his cell. How he’d asked, and asked, and _asked_ , over and over, for him to _choose_. 

_“There are... other ways I can keep them entertained. You do keep lovely company, and the men spend so long away from cities these days...”_

“Nnn... Take me, _take me, instead._ ” 

Memories could be so unkind after trauma, he knew that much, subconsciously, but that didn’t help now. Not when all he could hear was the laughter in his ear. He felt sick, dizzy, as he had in the cell. No food, no water, no light, no touch. Nothing. Just the one ever-lit torch that only served to make his captor look more horrific, and cause the man’s shadow to stretch across the floor. 

_“Those pretty elves...”_

_“...Teach them their place.”_

“No, leave them– ” _Leave them alone._

His wrists burned, rubbed raw, he clawed at them, feeling something wrapped around them, keeping him from getting to his own skin. Something clasped itself onto his arm, tugging. 

_“Choose, or I’ll take your knife and starting cutting away fingers.”_

His hands itched, fingers stretching, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore. He felt restrained, knew he was restrained, he’d never left the cell, he was still there, it was dark, he was still there, still there, it was so dark, the torch is flickering; he’s coming again. 

_“Choose.”_

_“Choose.”_

The drag of rusting metal sliding down the back of his leg, he flinched away, only to be stopped by the feeling of it on his face. 

“Take me.” _Take me, instead. Kill me, instead._

 _“Choose.”_

_Take me._

“Krem!” 

That shout was real enough. He shot up, gasping, feeling like he was drowning. He couldn’t breathe, air too thin. 

_Can’t breathe, can’t breathe!_

Large hands settling on his shoulders, something to focus on, focus on that, not... Not... 

_“Choose.”_

“Cremisius! Breathe!” 

No one called him that anymore, no one... _Bull._

His hands were settled between Bull’s. The man’s much larger ones completely enveloping his. He stared up, wide-eyed, at the man who had saved him; so long ago, and again so recently, and drew in a staggered breath through his open mouth. Bull gently moved him so he was cradled against the man’s chest, seated upon one muscled thigh. The Qunari exaggerated his own breathing, waiting for Krem to catch on before taking more normal breaths. Krem felt every rise and fall of Bull’s body, doing his best to match it, and slow down his heart, racing as it was. 

As he became more aware of his own body, and his surroundings, he calmed, despite the small lances of pain that shot through various sections of his beat-up form. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Chargers, awake, watching the exchange in distress, and forced himself to look away. He didn’t deserve their concern, not after what he’d done. 

“I know you probably don’t want to, but you need to go back to sleep. Your body’s craving it; you’re exhausted,” Bull said, a tender note threading through his tone. 

“I... I can’t...” Krem whispered, his voice rasping. 

“You can. I’ll stay here; whatever you saw, whatever you relived, whatever you’re thinking, I’ll wake you up before it happens again.” 

The words wrapped around him, and accompanied by Bull’s actual arms that kept him curled up in his lap, Krem couldn’t fight it. He was so tired, tired enough to want the touch he didn’t deserve, tired enough to be both selfish and unworthy. He leaned into Bull’s chest, and took a deep breath to release as a quiet sigh of contentment. Bull wouldn’t let him go, not now. He resigned himself to the guilt and panic he was sure to feel again when he next woke, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care.


	4. Chapter 4

The low light of the sun filtered in through the windows of the barracks. Krem shifted against the solid form wrapped around him, opening his eyes with a squint of confusion. The click of the door closing sounded, and he watched through half-closed eyes as Skinner walked over with a bowl, passing it off to Bull, who still had his arms curled around Krem’s shoulders and waist. They spoke for a moment, but Krem couldn’t understand what they were saying, still dazed and half-asleep, all he could do was focus on the hushed movements of their mouths. He tucked his head against Bull’s stomach, partially hiding his face from view. Skinner moved away, giving one last glance down to Krem’s form with a small smile. Krem shuffled, moving up against Bull’s chest, wincing at the stiffness that wracked his body, but it seemed to fade with the comforting touch of Bull’s large hand laying on his shoulder. 

“Morning, Krem-puff,” the Qunari rumbled, his breath moving Krem’s hair. 

“Hey, Chief,” Krem replied, punctuating the end of his greeting with a yawn, and bringing up one bandaged hand to cover his mouth. 

Having Bull towering over him, vigilant and strong, reminded him far too much of the day he’d first met the man. He radiated protectiveness for all that he claimed as his own; an unwavering shield. It was this that kept him calm, soothed, even as his panic settled low in his stomach. He could recall the man crouching over him, taking the hit that took his eye, and doing nothing more than introducing himself and offering his help afterwards. It made his lips quirk into a small smile as he looked up at Bull, who squeezed his shoulder in response. 

“You stayed here all night?” Krem asked quietly, lowering his gaze a little. 

Bull… purred, for lack of a better word. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the sound, but it was difficult to describe it as anything else, and it was always humorous to bring it up in conversation and liken him to a cat. It usually started a boisterous round of ribbing between their group. He smiled gently, as he did, and moved his hand to ruffle Krem’s hair. 

“Of course I did,” he replied. “You sleep alright?” 

Krem hummed his yes, happily reclining against Bull; a familiar situation. He let himself focus on the feel of the man around him, craving the gentle touch. Bull’s aura enveloped him, and it was that feeling of safety that allowed him to relax, for the anxiousness that wanted to build in him to fade away. 

Bull wrapped his arm back around him, supporting his body in its reclined position, and lifted the bowl that Skinner had brought up to his lips. 

“Eat, I’m not happy with how long you’ve gone without food,” Bull insisted. 

Krem mock sighed, looking down at the light broth. Simple, filling, something that would help him regain his strength but not shock his stomach while it re-adjusted to having food and water inside it. He lifted his hands to hold the bowl out of habit, and hissed as his wrists bent. Bull gently pushed his hands back down to his lap. 

“I’ve got you. You’re still healing; it’s slow-going.” 

Krem let his confusion slip onto his face. 

“There’s a lot of damage, Krem. From what we figured out between us, you hadn’t eaten or drank in three days, and you were injured, too. You’re going to need to rest a lot, regain your strength, get used to eating again. You’ll have to stay hydrated; that’s why your head hurts all the time. I’ve seen you squinting at the light. You’re gonna need to get used to not being in the dark,” Bull explained, staring down at Krem with one concerned green eye, and the smallest down-turn of his scarred lips. 

Krem shifted a little, fidgeting with discomfort. 

“Not to mention all the other crap that you’ll be going through,” the Qunari continued. 

Krem frowned, opening his mouth to say something, and then closing it again. He nods, resigned. 

“We don’t need to talk about it until you’re ready, but if you need something, you come and get me, yeah?” Bull said. 

“Yeah… Yeah, okay,” Krem responded, giving a single nod. 

Bull lifted the broth back up to Krem’s lips, keeping an attentive eye on the ‘Vint as he drank from the lip of the bowl, hands laying limp across his legs. Around halfway through the meal, Bull could see him struggling, eyes tightly closed and trying to force the food down to his stomach. He pulled the bowl away, putting it on the floor, out of the way. Krem’s arms had wrapped themselves around his stomach by the time he’d looked back up. He pulled pushed them away slightly, wiggling his hand under Krem’s shirt and rubbing light circles into his skin. Krem gagged, once, swallowing harshly. 

“Pushed it a little there, huh?” Bull rumbled, his warm hand slowly releasing the tension that had built up in Krem’s stomach. 

Krem coughed, weakly laughing. “Yeah, fucked up. Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise, Krem,” Bull replied in his low, comforting tone. “You’re fine. Are you up to having a bath?” 

Krem grimaced, feeling the grime on his skin that couldn’t be completely cleared off with stream water and a cloth, and the darkness that seemed to have seeped into his pores from the cave; wiggling somewhere beneath his skin. “Yeah, I feel gross.” 

“Water’s still hot, can you stand?” 

In answer, Krem shuffled out of Bull’s grasp, sliding to the edge of the bed; holding back a whine at the loss of heat from the man’s hand. His stomach twisted, reminding him of his mistake, but he ignored it, carefully pushing himself up off of the soft surface. He stumbled lightly when all his weight was on his legs, but a steadying hand from Bull kept him from toppling over. Krem looked back at him with a grin, before carefully stepping forward. His legs held him, and although he could feel the weakness that had taken hold of him, as he walked towards the tub that had been set in the corner of the room, he felt a little stronger than he had in the past few days. 

The light shirt that the boys had slipped on him, so much earlier in the day, was easy to unfasten and let fall to the fall. He wiggled out of his smallclothes, using a nearby chair for balance, and stepping out of them. The bandages went next, even though the strength he used to unwind them all didn’t seem worth much. They joined the small pile of his clothing, kicked out of the way. Bare, he used the wall for support, and lowered himself into the copper tub, knees bent upwards. He sighed, lowering his forehead to his knees. 

Despite the lingering presence that was Bull, Krem felt no shame. The man had seen them all in varying states of undress and injury, one couldn’t create a force like the Chargers and not expect them to grow so close as to be considered family to one another. In the field, during the weeks of travelling and fighting, you easily lost the shame that others felt when vulnerable around others. People needed to bathe, not only to remain clean but also to cleanse wounds. Things like modesty in the face of infection or weeks without clean water to wash in seemed silly. 

Krem sensed Bull as he came closer. The man was notoriously quiet when he wanted to be, and as he knelt down next to the tub, Krem turned his head to watch him. The Qunari grabbed a cloth, dipping it into the water and grabbing a kind of elfroot soap that Stitches concocted for them to use when injured. Fragrances and bloody injuries were a stinging mix, and the risk of infection was high in the early stages of healing. Bull rubbed the soap over the cloth, seeping the elfroot into its fibres. 

“Lean back, I’ve got you,” Bull said, placing a supporting hand on his back. 

Krem does as he’s asked, untucking himself, wrapping a supporting arm around his ribs, and leaning back onto Bull’s hand. He feels the splay of the man’s fingers against his skin, and his breathing relaxes; coming in natural intakes of breath. Bull tenderly washed the grime from his skin, wiping away the built-up dirt that they hadn’t been able to get off of him after they’d pulled him out of the cavern. It isn’t long before he can feel the soap and Bull’s gentle fingers in his hair, and his head is being tilted back. Water runs in long rivets down his neck and shoulders, causing him to shiver slightly, but the feeling of being clean, of some of the darkness being washed away, made everything else not matter. 

Bull was careful washing around all of his injuries, but now, with the cloth in one hand, and the other resting on Krem’s face, cupping around his cheek and chin, he could say that the touch was feather-light. And welcome, oh so welcome. He wondered, fleetingly, how long that feeling would last this time. Before the guilt took over again. He could feel it, working its way into his muscles and bones, settling in the pit of his stomach. He’d been fighting it off since he’d woken up, wanting a moment more of rest before the tugging started up again. He shuddered, involuntarily, and raised his gaze just in time to see Bull’s look of concern. The man lowered the cloth, and smoothed back Krem’s soaked hair. 

“You okay getting up?” 

Krem shrugged, honestly unsure, and began to hoist himself up using the sides of the tub. Once he was standing, Bull wrapped a towel around him, it was warm, soft. He burrowed into it, and stepped out the tub, the first step he took was unsteady, as was the next, and the one that followed. But he remained determined, and walked back to his bed with Bull hovering at his side. 

Stitches stood, waiting, and the sheets had been changed. They hadn’t been concerned with the state of his skin when they’d put him to bed in the early hours of that morning, but now that he was clean, the fresh sheets were welcome. 

He sat down heavily, legs unwilling to support him any longer than they needed to. Bull passed him some smallclothes, which he hooked onto his legs and pulled up to settle on his hips. He fell back onto the bed, towel only partially covering him, and noted that Bull had pulled it up to cover his hair at the last moment. He smiled, appreciatively, he’d rather not lie on damp pillows. 

Stitches sat down at his side, and, wordlessly, began spreading salve on his cuts, and rewrapping his leg, hands, wrists, and ribs. He tapped one of Krem’s arms with two fingers. 

“Couple more days, you’ll be mostly fine. Maybe a little unsteady. I’d prefer it if you waited a little more before training again, but fuck knows that you don’t listen to me.” 

Krem grinned in reply. “You know I love you.” 

Stitches waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. One of us will be by with food again later. We’re gonna do this small and slow. Keep drinking water, you’re still looking off.” 

Krem gave him a mock salute as he stood to leave. “Will do, thanks.” 

Stitches trained his gaze on him, staring him down. “Thank me by eating, damn it. And if I see you in the ‘yard anytime in the next two days, I’ll drag you back here myself.” 

Krem laughed lightly as he left, suddenly tired. He rubbed his eyes and frowned, confused. 

“Why...?” He mumbled, voicing his worry, but no expecting an answer. 

“It happens. You just need to rest. You’ll be fine in no time, Krem-puff. And then I’ll be knocking you out on your ass again,” Bull said, grinning. 

The Tevinter could tell Bull was trying to lighten the situation, and something about it was working, at least. He didn’t feel anxious, only tired, and if Bull said that was alright, well. 

“Get some more sleep, it’s okay,” Bull said, something soothing in the commanding tone. 

Krem couldn’t exactly argue with his Chief now, could he? As he drifted off, he felt the sheets being pulled up over him. 

He woke to the sound of Stitches and Bull talking. 

“…I don’t know, Chief. They took him afterwards, and the idiot just grinned. Kept him completely separated from us. That one bastard, you know, the one that was laughing until you buried your axe in his chest cavity and cut his head off. Overkill, but I’m glad you did. Anyway, he kept coming back from where they were keeping Krem and he’d have the biggest… most insane grin on his face. Like the kid’d done something amusing. I don’t trust him, they did something to Krem in there, and he’s not come out of it well,” Stitches said. 

“We’ll give him some time, that might be all he needs. From what he’s told me, there was no sense of time where they kept him. Three days may have seemed so much longer to him,” Bull’s voice floated above him, hovering, as usual. 

“I don’t like it, but alright. We’ll give him time, but I ain’t leaving him alone. He needs his family right now.” 

“I wouldn’t think to suggest it. Stay close to him when I can’t. Make sure he knows you’re all okay. Think he thought you were dead or hurt, seemed that way when I went in to get him. He was just sitting there, until he realised it was me. The first thing he did was ask after you guys,” Bull sounded worried, anxious at the prospect of not knowing what had happened. 

Krem shuffled, his movement signalling to the other two men that he was awake. He felt Bull’s hands move under his shoulders and lift him up slightly. 

“Hey,” he croaked. “’Time is it?” 

“Late, you slept a few hours. Everyone’s in bed, dawn’s a couple hours away,” Bull said. 

“Oh,” Krem replied, still half-asleep, but feeling an overwhelming urge to confirm Bull’s words. 

He shuffled upwards against Bull’s hand, frowning at the pull of his ribs. He looked around, counting the heads of each of the Chargers lying in their beds. Each of them were sprawled in their own unique ways, some curled up, others lying flat across their beds. His eyes scanned past Stitches, sitting up at the end of his bed and watching him, the stare of his eyes flicking between him and Bull. He looked at Bull, taking in the man’s drained expression. 

“You look tired.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Bull replied, a smile quirking up the corners of his lips. “Here, drink this. You should be able to get up and walk around tomorrow.” 

Bull held out a vial, pressing it to Krem’s lips, watching as he drank it down. Krem looked up afterwards, glaring up at Bull.

“Lie down,” Krem demanded. “If you’re determined to stay in here, there’s enough room on the bed for you to actually sleep.” 

Bull raised a brow, and Stitches suppressed his laughter from the other side of the room. 

“Told you he’d be pissed, Chief. Better listen to the Lieutenant,” Stitches snickered. 

Bull and Krem stared each other down, but eventually, the second-in-command won; Bull would never admit it, but Krem had a deadly set of puppy eyes. The silver-bronze of his large eyes always threw the man. Bull sighed, relenting. 

“Scoot over, then.” 

Despite his words, he hooked his arm further around Krem, and pulled the small Tevinter up so that he was curled into Bull’s side. 

“Go back to sleep,” Bull said. 

Krem, already halfway there, just hummed in agreement.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning saw Krem carefully climbing out of bed, all too aware of the lack of people in the room with him. He saw another vial of healing potion sitting on the draws next to his bed, a note sitting under it. 

_Krem,_

_Drink this, Doctor’s orders. I’ll know if you don’t. And get some damn rest._

_-S_

Short, threatening, and barely signed off. Krem shook his head at Stitches’ note, downing the potion, and pulling himself up off the bed. Bull was right, he did feel better, the skin of his wrists and the back of his knee didn’t feel as tight, and it didn’t hurt to breathe anymore. He tested his range of motion, lightly twisting his waist, and stretching out his joints. Not for the first time, he wished that their trained mages weren’t busy. Even Dorian, with his basic knowledge of the healing arts, would be able to at least speed along the process. Unfortunately, they were all off on their own escapades. Nodding at the flexibility he’d retained, he grabbed clean clothes from his draws, and changed as quickly as he could with his injuries. 

The worn breeches, dark and soft, were comfortable on his legs, and didn’t rub against the half-healed cut that adorned the skin at the back of his knee. His shirt, long-sleeved and made of cotton, was warm. The deep maroon colour set off the bronze in his eyes, and the thickness of the material hid the bandages well. 

He strapped one of his smaller blades to his hip, and pushed his knife into his waistband. It sat there, snug against his skin, and he was happy to have it back where it belonged, instead of in the hands of the Templar bastards that had taken it from him. He was glad Bull had gotten it back for him. 

Pulling on his boots, he began to feel the creep of panic seep into him again. A tremble that built up and made his hands shake; his shoulders rocking with shivers. He took a quick glance at Stitches’ note, analysing it. He’d been here not long ago; the ink was barely dry. He was fine. What could happen in the span of ink drying? He tried not to think about the timeframe between each visit from the Templar leader, how long it would have been between each time the door was thrown open; the sound of metal and wood on stone echoing in the cavern. He shook his head, no, he needed to see them. Make sure they were all alright. 

Standing before the door, he could hear the small ruckus that was the tavern during its daylight hours. The noise was welcome, and as he pushed the door open, he was greeted by several of its usual patrons. It seemed all of Skyhold knew that they’d been taken, and those that frequented the tavern were particularly concerned with the disappearance of their favourite noise-makers. 

“Y’alright, Krem? Heard a bit about what happened. Hope you boys will be back in here making the place lively again soon,” Cabot said, wiping down the bar with his ever-present rag. 

Krem nodded at the man. “Yeah, soon enough. Just catching up on some lost hours, you know how it is. They out training?” 

“Yeah, not heard any crashes yet, y’ Chief must be takin’ it easy on them!” Cabot replied with a toothy grin. 

“Thanks, Cabot. See you later,” Krem said as he walked towards the tavern’s exit. 

Outside, the sun was bright and high. Early afternoon light spread across the courtyard, threading its way through the gaps in the trees and flowing onto the stone pathway that coiled around them. Krem took a breath, trying to abate his rising panic, and made his way over to the left of the tavern, where the Chargers usually trained. He could already hear their grunts of exertion. The sounds calmed him, the shakes residing slightly, but he needed to be nearer to them; needed to see with his own eyes that they were all okay. 

“Guard up, Dalish! Skinner, watch your back!” Came Bull’s shout. 

As Krem rounded the corner, he saw both their elves battling it out on the edges of the training arena. Skinner was faced away from Dalish, dodging her arrows and returning them as she attempted to get in closer. Krem saw her body tighten, ready to spin out towards him, once she did, he unsheathed his dagger, catching her blade with his own as he struck, and holding her wrist in his other hand just a fraction looser than bruising her skin. He grinned at her wide-eyed expression, her mouth agape as she realised what had happened. He hoped she didn’t notice the shake of his hands, or passed it off as one of his many symptoms of overexertion.

“Hey,” he said, happily. “How’s it going?” 

“Maker,” she gasped. “Krem, I’m so sorry.” 

She backed off quickly, Krem releasing her wrist and standing with his hip cocked out; grin still present. He sheathed his blade, and clasped his hands behind his back, hoping to hide the shakes as they died down. 

“It’s fine, I’m good. Your left strike is a little weaker than your right. Watch your momentum when you turn to face another opponent, especially if they’re a magic-user, if you’re underbalanced, you’ll fall or your blow will be weak, overbalance can lead to injury,” he kept his voice light, casual, hoping to detract any attention on his arms. 

Skinner nodded, still looking at Krem with shocked eyes. 

“Stop that, I’m fine,” Krem reassured. 

“Krem,” Bull rumbled, stalking over to them. “You’re supposed to be resting.” 

“Busted,” Krem mock-whispered. 

“Cremisius Aclassi, I told you to stay in bed!” Stitches exclaimed, shouting from the other side of the training field. 

“Oh shit, full-named!” Dalish called. 

The banter and teasing between their ranks made Krem’s grin widen, the creeping darkness receded back, taking away the ache from his body. Bull’s hand landed in his hair, ruffling at the strands. 

“It’s good to see you up and about, though. You up for a round?” Bull said, a fond tone in his voice. 

“I don’t condone this! If something reopens, you can sew yourself back up!” Stitches yelled. 

Krem looked up at Bull from under the shadow of his large hand. “Practice swords?” 

Bull laughed, full-bodied and deep. “Sure, no power hits, you’re still injured. Mind your wrists.” 

Krem saluted, feeling lighter than he had in days. He handed off his dagger and its sheath to Skinner, and untucked his knife, flipping it over and passing it to her handle-first. He dragged his shirt up and off, tossing it to the edge of the ring. The stark white bandages compressing his torso stood out against his dark skin; wrapped over the muscles of his upper abdominals and winding up to the top of his chest. Dalish tossed him a practice sword, which he caught one-handed, drawing attention to the cloth wraps around his hands and wrists. The moment the wooden sword was in his grasp, the remaining shakes that plagued him stopped. He twirled the sword, testing out some motions, and staring up at Bull. Unconsciously, he and Bull had started the circle each other. 

“You sure you’re good?” Bull asked, deep voice full of concern. 

Krem smirked. “Yeah, I’m good. Bring it on.” 

Unconsciously, the other Chargers formed a perimeter around them, a circle large enough to contain the powerful swings they were used to seeing whenever Krem and Bull fought. Stitches, despite what he’d yelled, was standing by with his usual medical bag, the mixture of a grin and a grimace on his face. It was a strange expression, indeed. Krem took a deep breath, centring himself, and watching Bull do the same. As usual, Bull waited for him to make the first move, standing at the ready, his training sword grasped strongly, but not strong enough to splinter the wood; which they had seen him do before. 

He rushed forward, weight on the sole of his feet for speed, the first strike, cautious, met Bull’s easily, and they grinned at each other, eyes alight; exchanging a small power struggle. At the first twinge of his wrists’ skin, Krem backed off, stepping back, and landing on his uninjured leg. 

“Good! Nice balance, considering…” Bull bellowed across the space between them. 

“Considering I got my ass handed to me? Yeah, I know,” Krem smirked. 

The was something dark in the quirk of Krem’s lips, and he knew that Bull could see it, but he wouldn’t say anything. Not with words anyway. The next attack was stronger, coming at him like a battering ram. He took the hit, blocking it with the sword. 

“Damn,” Krem heard one of the Chargers whisper. 

“That all you got,” Krem said, glowering up at Bull. 

Krem shifted his weight forward, using the spring in his strong legs as momentum, and twisting into the push of power. Bull stepped back quickly, leaning away from the tip of Krem’s practice sword. 

“Better; not as stiff,” Bull commented, having seen the turn of Krem’s hips. “Mind your ribs. Remember how you used to move.” 

“Three days sitting on rock would fuck up your movements too,” Krem batted back. 

“Fair enough. Side!” 

Krem dodged the wooden blade arched above him, glaring at Bull once he’d regained the necessary distance that he preferred to put between him and his opponents. Bull swung his blade around in his hand, striking again from an angle near Krem’s left knee. As Krem moved to dance out of the blade’s path, he misjudged his step, and twisted his hip back to counterbalance himself, his waist followed naturally, and a hiss left his lips. 

Desperate to cover up his falter, Krem jabbed his sword towards Bull’s blind side, catching the leather of the Qunari’s harness before the man stepped back. Krem took in a gulp of air, lips parted in exertion. 

“You know that doesn’t work on me, Chief,” Krem said through disrupted breaths, sword held tightly in his hand, arm tight to his body, trying to focus on anything but the pain. 

“Still good?” Bull rumbled, lone eye’s gaze flicking down to Krem’s chest. 

Krem took a deep breath in, sweat dripping down the side of his face, glistening lightly on his shoulders. He corrected his stance, feet shoulder-width apart, and nodded. 

“Yeah,” he replied, rushing forward again. 

As he reached Bull, he pivoted on his injured leg, using the force of the turn to add power to his strike, demonstrating his earlier words to Skinner. The blow landed, with a small grunt from Bull, who grinned as soon as the impact landed. 

“Nice! Now, harder!” 

“Thought we weren’t doing power blows?” Krem asked, sarcasm sinking into his voice. 

“Hey, if you think you can handle it, I’m not stopping you,” Bull returned. Dropping to a whisper, he continued: “Seems like you have something to prove.” 

“Maybe,” Krem batted back, stepping forward to strike again. “Maybe I don’t want them to see me downed anymore.” 

“It’s okay to take time to heal.” 

Their swords clashed again, followed by quick movements and manoeuvres that tested the strength of their muscles, the power behind each blow. How much Krem could give and take while he was injured. When Bull pulled back, Krem pushed again. 

“I’m their Lieutenant. Your second-in-command, Bull,” Krem’s eyes seemed to flash in the sun. “If I can’t shake this off, I don’t deserve that title.” 

“You don’t need to shake it off, you need to heal and get some rest.” 

“I have. I can do this,” the Tevinter’s eyes were dark, the slip of silver that usually shined in them swallowed up by copper. 

Bull was breathing hard – in a state that only a hard battle or a long spar with Krem could get him to, but Krem was panting; each breath forcing its way up from his throat, his lungs burning, and leaving an ache over his ribs. 

With one last swing; strong practice swords hitting together with a tired force, Krem stepped back, wrapping a careful arm around his ribs, and stabbing the wooden blade into the ground. His legs trembled, but he stood his ground, determined not to take a knee. He kept a white-knuckled grip on the handle of the sword, taking in sharp breaths that hitched his chest upwards with each intake of air. 

Bull sauntered over, lightly slapping his hand down on Krem’s shoulder, his sword resting against his harness. Krem stumbled, looking up from where he was focusing on the ground. 

“You alright?” Bull asked, tone low. 

“Yeah,” Krem said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Bull wrapped his hand around Krem’s forearm, steadying him as he straightened from his bent over position. The Chargers were cheering behind them, louder than usual, happy that the spar between them had been as showy as usual. 

“Bath?” Bull asked, grinning. 

“Drink,” Krem shot back, cocking his head towards the tavern. 

“Your wish is my command, Ser Krem de la crème!” Bull replied, cheery and full of adrenaline, looking down at his Lieutenant. He motioned at the rest of the group. “Would you like to do the honours?

Krem grinned, all teeth and plump lips, he stood tall, shaking off Bull’s supporting hand. “Chargers!” 

“Horns up!” They cried, grinning at each other while they made mock-horns with their hands. 

Laughter broke out, and they rushed inwards towards their commanders. Stitches tapped on Krem’s ribs, frowning when the ‘Vint flinched under the touch. Krem shook his head, mute, his lips pursing into a tight line. Stitches understood, and stepped back, swiftly, glancing around to ensure they hadn’t drawn any attention to Krem’s injuries. Dalish tossed Krem’s shirt to him, and he slipped it on gingerly, pulling it down to cover his bandages. Skinner threw an arm over Krem shoulders, grinning, while Rocky joyfully clapped a hand onto his hip. They walked back towards the tavern, most of them hanging off of some part of Krem’s body, with Grim walking silently, as close to Krem’s side as he could get. 

Somehow, it didn’t feel like they were weighing him down, rather that their added weight was comfortable, and easily reminded him that they were all alive and in front of him. The image that he could see so effortlessly, simply by glancing around with his eyes, erased the picture that he’d built up in his mind; their lifeless bodies, blank eyes only open to accuse him of their deaths. 

Bull joined them quickly, having taken a moment to gather up the training swords while Krem was being swarmed. He carried Krem’s weapons, staying close by. The Chargers bust through the tavern door, singing in the early afternoon light. 

“ _…No one can beat the Chargers 'cause we'll hit you where it hurts._ ”

Readily joining in, Krem was elated that his choice to spar with Bull had lightened the group’s spirits so much. 

“ _Unless you know a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts!_ ”

The heaviness of his heart was lessening as they clambered over to their usual corner, the lyrics of their song filling the space of the tavern. 

“ _For every bloody battlefield, we’ll gladly raise a cup!_

They slid into their seats, making their usual ruckus while Bull motioned to one of the barmaids to bring over their usual drinks. 

“ _No matter what tomorrow holds, our horns be pointing up!_ ”

The drinks came over quickly, a young, redheaded barmaid with a kind, freckled face walking over with a sway in her hips. 

“Here you are, boys. Cabot says first round’s on the house, ‘e’s happy to have you back with us,” she said, her pink lips forming a smile. 

“Thanks, Bella! Give Cabot a kiss for us, yeah?” Krem beamed. 

The Chargers made kissing sounding, puckering their lips and smacking them together. 

Bella laughed, her hair falling over her shoulders as she shook her head at the group’s antics. “You got it, Krem!”

The afternoon of merriment quickly turned to night, and the Chargers and Maryden took turns singing in the tavern. As the night drew on, the tavern emptied out, the inhabitants of Skyhold stumbling to their beds. Krem nursed another mug of ale, staring into its depths like it held answers to his unspoken questions. A small smile had held itself on his face whenever he wasn’t grinning or singing with the other Chargers. Their energy seemed to focus around him, keeping him out of the darker place in his mind, and retracting any horrific feelings of guilt in the pit of his stomach. To see them all so alive was helping more than words could describe, but he knew that to keep them safe, they needed to be away from them. He’d protect them from afar, always watching, but never staying too close; they’d never be used against him again.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning was, more or less, a return to normal. Injuries be damned, Krem kept his head high, not showing an ounce of weakness, with every intention for things to go back to the way they’d been before their last mission. He’d gotten up early, unwrapping the bandages from his hands and wrists, a smile curling onto his face at the sight of the near-healed skin. The cut he’d inflicted upon himself was still red, the flesh barely mended back together, but none of his darkly tanned skin had the angry shades of infection, and the daily doses of Elfroot had given him much of his strength back. 

Outside, near the weapons rack, in full armour, he sparred with Cassandra; who expressed her happiness at his return to health with enthusiastic blows of her sword against his. He’d promised himself that he’d pick his maul back up in the next couple of days, and told her as much. She was only too happy to assist in helping him free up his movements again. The fight with Bull the previous day had left some lingering soreness, but nothing that impeded his skills. Skinner was perched nearby, an unspoken action that meant she was next if Krem was up to it. 

Cassandra called the spar to an end, clasping his arm the way warriors did. “I have an appointment in the War Room. But I am glad to see that your skills have not faltered. Find me again if you wish for a sparring partner.” 

Krem gave her a grateful smile, and his thanks, as she left; stalking across the courtyard like a viper. 

Skinner jumped up from her perch on a hay bale, diving straight into the sparring circle that had been drawn in the dirt, and attacking Krem with both of her blades at once. Her hair danced about her head as she span in endless intricate twirls, her blades following opposite arching directions; a move made to confuse an opponent. 

Krem dodged, weaving in and out of the gaps in Skinner’s technique, and finally, coming to rest his blade against both of hers. 

“You look better,” she stated. “How do you feel?” 

Krem grunted, forcing his sword down; a power struggle. “Better.” 

“Yeah? You gonna tell us what those fucking _shems_ did to you in there?” 

Krem growled quietly, enough to be picked up by elven ears. “Nothing.” 

“Bullshit.” 

Their blades parted, and Krem attacked again, swinging sharply at Skinner’s side with purpose. An easy attack for her to see, but with enough strength behind it that she wouldn’t suspect anything. The elf took the attack, its strength making her take a step backwards. They struggled again, but in the end, Krem overpowered her. 

“They did nothing, Skinner. Nothing. I’m okay,” he said, voice soft. 

Krem only hopped that Skinner wouldn’t ever catch on to how true that statement was. 

Skinner gazed into his eyes, glancing over the copper colour, almost positive that it was a shade or two darker than usual. She saw the hint of desperation, the want for her to believe his words. She sighed. 

“Fine. I’ll leave it, for now. Get inside, it’s time for food, and you need to eat.” 

She cut him off the moment he started protesting with the glint of one of her daggers at her waist. “No arguments. Inside.” 

“…Worse than Bull, I swear,” Krem grumbled. 

Skinner pushed at his back, between his shoulder blades. “Go.” 

Krem threw his hand up in surrender, sheathing his sword. He looked back at her, trying not to burst into laughter. She pushed at his back again. 

“I’m going, I’m going!” He reasoned, a small laugh spilling from his lips. 

Skinner pushed him through the door, and over to the Charger’s table, he sat heavily, taking a large breath in. His armour felt tight. Then loose. Deft fingers pulling it from his skin. He looked up at Bull with a grin. 

“Hey, Chief!” 

“Afternoon, Krem de la crème, get your ass kicked today?” 

“Nah, held my own,” Krem responded, tone easy. 

“Good boy,” Bull said with a happy chuckle. 

His amour came free with a metallic clink, placed on the floor against the wall next to them. Krem took a deep breath in, an easy smile on his face as the rest of their team came to join them. They fell back into easy habits, laughing joyfully at the smallest happenings from the morning. Bella brought over their food with a smile, easily striking up a quick and flirtatious conversation with Bull. Soon enough, they were all digging into their bowls of thick broth, and the rolls of bread that accompanied the well-seasoned dish were plentiful. Krem ripped off a piece of his bread and chewed thoughtfully, swallowing, he turned to Bull. 

“Do you have –” 

He was cut off as Bull held up a black, leather-bound book with a smug expression. 

“The book? Yeah. Want it?” He smiled, more of a shit-eating grin than anything else. 

Krem scowled. “Yeah, thanks.” 

Bull handed it over. “Anytime Krem-puff. I’ve updated the mission logs, write your report and get it to me whenever; no rush.” 

“You sure?” Krem asked, brow raised. 

“It’s been a tough week. Take some time. You’re all here, injuries are minimal, it was a routine mission that was screwed from the start – nothing to worry about, nothing we could have done to change the outcome.”

Krem shrugged, swallowing a spoonful of his broth. “Fair enough. I’ll still have it done in the next week or two, though.” 

Bull fondly ruffled his hair, laughing boisterously when Krem squawked. “Like I said: no rush.” 

Stitches leaned over as Krem finished up his meal, glancing over his Lieutenant’s form, looking for signs of discomfort. 

“Two spars today, was it? I swear to the Maker, Krem, I will bench you.” 

Krem grinned. “No you won’t. Only if you find something agitated or infected.” 

“No, I won’t,” Stitches agreed, with a sour expression. “But you can still get your ass in the barracks so I can make sure you haven’t fucked anything up. Your bandages need changing again, dumbass.” 

Krem laughed, shaking his head, and standing fluidly. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” 

As he walked past, Krem slapped his hand down onto the meat of Bull’s shoulder. He looked onwards, watching after Stitches as the man walked towards the barracks. 

“I’m gonna take a couple solo missions.” 

Bull took a long drink of ale and swallowed, loudly. He glanced up at Krem with his remaining eye, appear nonchalant. “Yeah?” 

Krem grinned down at him, eyes closed. “Yeah. Gotta clear my head.” 

Bull nodded, understanding in his expression, as Krem started to walk away again, picking up his armour from the floor and moving to follow Stitches’ path, Bull called out to him. 

“Krem? Don’t over do it. I’m here when you’re ready.” 

Krem didn’t look back, choosing instead to glance towards the tavern floor. A sad smile quirked his lips upwards, though Bull couldn’t see it. 

“Horns up, Chief,” he said, striding away. 

Stitches had already folded down his bedcovers when he reached the barracks, and some of his usual medical equipment was spread out on top of the draws that held some of his personal items. 

“Strip, and sit down. Let’s see what’s going on,” the field-medic said in his usual _no arguments_ tone. 

Krem put his armour on its stand, pulling his undershirt up from the bottom and tugging it up over his head. His boots were pulled off, his lower armour following them, and placed by the stand. Breeches were untied and dropped to the floor, revealing the bandaged tied around his knee that ended mid-way down his calf. He sat on his bed, hunching over slightly at the ache that had spread over his chest. Stitches wasted no time preparing ointments and bandages, but the moment he turned back around, Krem had already straightened, looking completely unaffected by his injuries. 

The bandages around his ribs were removed, and even as Stitches prodded and poked at his still-healing bones, Krem’s facial expression remained neutral. 

“...Potions seem to be doing the trick. The breaks aren’t too bad now. How’s your range?” 

“Better, not where I’d like it, but better.” 

Stitches tapped him on the head. “That’s because you and the Chief rush it when you’re healing.” 

“True,” Krem agreed with a smirk. 

“One more day with the bandages and then you can put your binder back on,” as Krem started to protest, Stitches cut him off. “No. Promise me. One more day.” 

“Fine,” Krem pouted. 

The medic smiled, wrapping new bandages around Krem’s chest, he glanced down at the warrior’s hands and tutted. “Show me your wrists?” 

Krem held one up for Stitches’ inspection, observing as the man turned it this way and that, and examined the scars that encircled his wrist. Krem was starting to hate the marks that marred his skin, but at the same time, he revelled in them, because it meant he’d gotten out of the cage, and the metal prison was so far away now, even if the gifts it’d left him with weren’t. 

“The other?” 

Krem raised his other hand, looking over the scar in his palm with morbid interest as Stitches felt along it. What if he’d just fought harder, maybe worried a little less about them hurting Skinner, and had taken them all down. They could have dealt with injuries afterwards. But no, because what if they’d decided to slit her neck, and bleed her out in front of them? But hadn’t she died anyway? No, she was in the tavern with the others, eating, and drinking, and _alive_. So _alive_. 

“They’ve healed nicely, and you don’t seem to have strained anything with all the sparring you’ve been doing. Which, for the record, I still think was too soon.” 

“Noted,” Krem said. “Leg?” 

“Lie on your stomach for me, if it looks good, I’ll take the stitches out today.” 

“Joy...” 

“Stop complaining and get to it,” Stitches said, moving to tap him on the head again. 

Krem grinned and ducked away, lying down on his stomach with a sigh. He burrowed his head into the pillow, and closed his eyes. The light coming in from the windows illuminated the bags under his eyes, and the lines of stress across his forehead. Stitches frowned at him, and turned his attention to the man’s leg, efficiently cutting off the bandages, and inspecting the wound. 

“You look like shit. Are you sleeping okay?” The medic asked, grabbing a sharp implement he used to cut the thread of stitched wounds. 

“Mmm,” Krem gave a non-committal noise, burying a hand underneath his pillow. Stitches’ touch felt good today, welcome, like he deserved it. Even if he was being poked at by the medic, his hands were gentle and soft. Which, he realised, didn’t make any sense, considering the dark-haired man was as calloused as they all were.

“Go to sleep if you’re tired. Don’t make me drug you.”

Krem opened one eye, wearily staring at their team’s medic. Stitches stared back. 

“I may not bench you, but I have no qualms about drugging you if you aren’t sleeping enough.” 

“Nah, got things to do...” Krem said sleepily. 

Stitches re-focused on pulling the thread out of Krem’s leg. With feigned disinterest, he continued the conversation, feeling only slightly bad about taking advantage of Krem’s tiredness. 

“Like what?”

Krem nuzzled into his pillow, unfazed by the removal of his stitches. The way he figured it, if he could take the cut, and the stitch, he had no reason to complain when they were taken out. Exhaustion mixed with all the fake emotions he’d been showing his team were weighing him down. He wondered if there was a mission or two he could take up from the residents of Skyhold, or even the commander. Anything to take him out of his head for a couple days. 

“...Stuff,” he replied, yawning. His body was shutting itself down, telling him, no, forcing him, to rest. “Gotta make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

Stitches’ head snapped up, fresh bandages in his grasp as his stared at his Lieutenant. “Make sure what doesn’t happen again, Krem?” 

Krem mumbled, seconds away from sleep. “Gotta... keep...” he yawned again. “Keep... safe.” 

Stitches’ expression lit up with shock, but he shook himself from it, tying off the end of the bandage around Krem’s leg. He pulled up the warrior’s blanket, and placed a soothing hand across the younger man’s back, lightly stroking in repetitive motions. 

“You idiot.” 

He sat with the man he considered a brother for a few minutes more, before shaking himself from the half-trance he’d slipped into. Quietly, Stitches crept from the room, going back over to the Chargers’ corner of the tavern and straddling the back of a chair. He sighed, heavily. 

“He good?” Their Chief asked, peering at Stitches over a mug. 

“Couple more days and he won’t need to bind his ribs anymore, the cuts on his wrists and hand have healed up real nice, and I took the stitches out of his leg.”

“But?” 

“But he said something stupid when he was falling asleep, and I’m worried about him. Said he needed to protect us, seems like he’s holding a lot of guilt over what happened, but that doesn’t make _any damn sense_ ,” Stitches exclaimed. “He said anything about what happened to him yet?” 

“Nah,” Bull said, taking a gulp of his ale. “Gonna give him some time. Mentioned he wanted to go on a couple solo missions soon.” 

“And you’re gonna let him? Chief!” Stitches shouted in frustration. 

“Whoa, whoa! Something happened to him that fucked with his head, I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna give him the time to sort through it.” 

Stitches dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck.” 

Bull glanced at him and raised his mug. “I’ll drink to that.”


	7. Chapter 7

It felt good, like he was standing on top of the world, able to see every tree and hillside around him, there was something freeing about being away from stone walls. But out here, alone, he wondered if he’d be able to sleep without knowing whether the rest of his team were safe. He told himself that Bull was there, and there wasn’t anyone more capable of looking after a group of people than Bull. Besides, he needed the time to wipe out as many threats as he could handle solo. The less chance of their group ever being caught off-guard again, the better. He could do this. 

There was a flash of red, a glint caught in the sun, just in the corner of his eye. Down in the valley, there were two Templars, the infection of red lyrium all too evident on their skin; even from this distance. Taking a deep, grounding breath, Krem started his descent into the valley, maul draw and ready. 

They went down all too easy, but the feeling of his maul in his grasp was strange. Like something familiar that he wasn’t accustomed to anymore. He wished he’d had time to practice more with Cassandra before he’d high-tailed it out of Skyhold, but a mission came up that he simply couldn’t refuse. The Commander was good like that, Cullen knew how difficult it was for a man used to war to stay away from a fight, especially after a rough mission. He’d looked at him knowingly, a glint of darkness settling into his eyes as he passed over a request from one of the Storm Coast outlook posts. No one here was trained to deal with this kind of threat yet, and it had been concerning the warriors posted out here. Red Templars were not to be underestimated. Except, perhaps, these ones. 

Huffing, Krem tugged his maul free of the chest of the second Templar, and started looting the bodies. If there was anything useful on these traitors, he’d find it. 

Hidden amongst the folds of the first Templar’s coat, there was a half-burnt slip of scroll, still partially curled. Recent, then. Krem scoffed down at the Templar, though they’d obviously tried to burn away the words on their orders, most of them remained. Amateurs. Squinting, he read over the words, hoping to deliver some good news back to Cullen. 

_Join the cam  
Coast. Passw   
Don’t forget it. _

“Password...?” Krem said to himself. 

An idea hit him, and he went back to searching the Templars. Corypheus’ minions weren’t known for being particularly smart, and as Krem pushed up the sleeve of the first Templar’s arm, he knew that it couldn’t be possible for them to be any stupider. 

There, inked onto the Templar’s inner wrist, was the password: _Potestatem._

“...Power?” Krem rolled his eyes. “Assholes.” 

The warrior stood carefully, shaking out the stiffness in his limbs. There was a never-ending downpour around him, and he was soaked through. He brushed back the hair plastered to his forehead, and crushed the burnt note in his grasp. Cullen would want to see this, and soon, if they lost this chance at taking out one of the Red Templars’ bases, it could have a dire effect on later missions. He wouldn’t risk it, they needed to be taken out. 

He walked back to the nearest camp, his body alive with pure adrenaline, greeting the lookouts and soldiers as he passed them. One passed him a towel to dry off with, but he shook his head. 

“Keep yourselves as dry as you can, we can’t have some of our best warriors getting sick,” he smiled. “Besides, I’m on my way out again, I found something of interest for the Commander, it’s best he sees it as soon as possible.” 

The scout smiled back at him, and left to grab him his horse while he re-packed the gear he’d left at the camp. He hadn’t brought much with him, but there were a couple of extra knifes, and a few medical supplies that he hadn’t taken with him on the mission. 

The scout came back with the dun mare he’d borrowed from the stables, and he quickly swung himself up onto the golden beauty. He wouldn’t push her too much; he’d promised Dennet that he’d take good care of her. Kicking off, she started walking up the rocky pathways of the ‘Coast with care. The rain made everything slick here, and it would be dangerous if she went too fast. 

Now that everything was calmer, he could feel it, the strain seeping into his muscles. It was entirely possible that he’d lain on one too many rock faces in the past couple days. Or perhaps one of the hits he’d blocked had twisted something. He shook his head, riding on. 

At the boarders of the Storm Coast, Krem spotted another Inquisition camp, hidden in a dip in the mountain. Near a crumbling, half-standing wall, he could make out the armoured form of Scout Harding, she noticed him, turning her head towards him in the downpour, and waved him over. 

Pulling his mare to a stop near her, he dismounted, and they mock-saluted at each other, laughing. 

“Krem! What brings you out here?” She asked, taking in his sodden form. 

Krem clasped a companionable hand onto her shoulder. “Mission for the Commander. A little fighting, a little intelligence, a whole fucking lot of rain.” 

Harding laughed again, easier, full-bodied. “Sounds about right for this place. I swear my armour is rusting!” Then, more seriously: “Find anything? Between the sick and the injured, we’re not having much luck out here.” 

“Yeah, I got something, looks like a lead on another camp. I should be back down here within the next couple days to help take it down.” 

“Aren’t you going to rest?” Lace asked, concerned. 

“Don’t need it, I’m soaked, not injured.” 

“But you were!” 

Krem stared at her, wide-eyed. “News in the Inquisition travels fast, huh?” 

“Sorry, Krem, a few of us heard from other warriors and scouts passing through. I got worried,” Lace said, glancing down at the muddy earth. 

Krem squeezed her shoulder, lightly. “It’s alright. I was, but I’m fine now.” 

Lace raised her gaze, staring at him, at the tightness of his shoulders. Her lips quirked into a momentary frown. “If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure,” he smiled. “I’ve got to go, the sooner I get this information to the Commander, the better.” 

Harding clasped his forearm in parting. “Be safe.” 

He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “You as well.” 

Krem flung himself back up onto his horse, kicking off, and riding hard. The beast carried him safely across the thresholds of the ‘Coast, up through the Hinterlands, and finally, through the gates of the secluded Skyhold. He slowed his mare down to a walk, stopping beside the stables and taking a moment to pat her flank and pass her off to Dennet. 

As he turned to start making his way up to Cullen, he saw the man walking down the stone steps towards him. As the blond neared, Krem saluted. 

“Commander.” 

Cullen’s gaze hardened, a mock-stern expression on his face. “Cremisius.” 

Krem grinned, dropping the over-the-top salute, and grasped Cullen’s forearm as the other man did the same to him. The Commander smiled. 

“It’s good to see you again so soon, Krem. Did your mission go well?” He asked, eyes roaming down Krem’s soaked body. 

“As well as can be expected, there’s some intelligence you need to be made aware of.” 

Krem passed over the singed note from a pocket under his armour, watching as Cullen’s face contorted while he read over it. The Commander hummed in thought. 

“Any ideas about the password?” 

Krem nodded. “I checked over the bodies, one of them had the Tevene for ‘Power’ written on the inside of his wrist. I think they make it easy for us on purpose.” 

“Are you up to taking care of this?” Cullen asked. 

“No problem... Ser.” 

Cullen sighed, exasperated. “You’re as bad as Dorian. Or he’s as bad as you. I can’t tell.” 

Krem grinned, boyishly, thinking of his friend. They bonded over a mutual want to change their homeland, and how fucked up each of their _on the run_ stories were. It helped that Bull had a soft spot for him, too, and the other Chargers were happy to have another drinking body who could not only fight, but be fucking terrifying when doing it. “Magey back yet?” 

Cullen frowned. “No, and with you going on missions for me, no one’s around to play a game,” he gestured towards the chess set in the gardens. “It’s like all the soldiers are scared of me.” 

Krem snorted a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. Have you seen yourself fight?” 

Cullen waved him off. “Not the point. Will you need any help on your mission?” 

“Nah, I’ll be alright. If it gets too much, I’ll go back to the camp and get a message to you.” 

“Good. Will you be able to set out again in the morning?” 

Krem raised a brow at Cullen, remaining quiet. 

Cullen raised one back. “Yes, yes, I know. Go rest up, I’ll have Leliana send a crow out to let the nearest camps know that you’ll be around.” 

Krem patted Cullen’s shoulder as he walked past him. “I’ll get a formal report delivered to you before I leave.” 

“Many thanks, now go, you’re practically watering all the greenery with how much water is coming off you.” 

Krem laughed, walking towards the tavern. Once inside, Cabot called over to him. 

“Krem! Good to see you back, I had some hot water taken into your room when Bella saw you ride through the gate.” 

Krem shook out his hair, some of the strands plastered to his forehead. “You’re the best, Cabot. Thank you.” 

“Anytime, go on, now. You’re dripping over my clean floor!” 

“This floor’s never been clean, Cabot, and you know it!” Krem shouted back as he walked into the Charger’s barracks. 

He heard the echo of “That’s no excuse!” before the door closed behind him. 

“Hey,” he said to Skinner as he walked past, she was the only other occupant of the room. 

Skinner did a double-take, staring at Krem as he crossed the room somewhat stiffly. “Maker, Krem?!” 

“What’s up?” He asked, casually, stripping off his chest plate and sweeping a hand across it. He grimaced at the slickness of the metal, shaking his head. “This is gonna be a bitch to deal with...” 

“Where have you been?” Skinner asked, coming over and helping him untie his gauntlets. 

“Thanks,” Krem commented, adding them to the growing pile. “Mission in the ‘Coast, if that wasn’t obvious by... Y’know, all the water.”

Skinner’s hands danced at his neck, loosening the strings of his undershirt, and helping him pull the water-logged cotton over his head. He shivered as his skin was bared to the air. 

“Fuck, that’s cold.” 

“I’m not fucking surprised?” Skinner said, her tone rising at the end of her comment. 

“Hey, now, be nice, I got rained on for three days.” 

“Get in the fucking bath, Krem.” 

Krem fumbled with the rest of the ties on his clothing, pulling off the amour that covered parts of his legs, and tossing his boots nearby. His breeches fell to the ground in a wet _thud_ when he tossed them to the rest of his clothes. Seeing the light, controlled tremble in Krem’s hands, Skinner touched the strings of his binder lightly. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” he said, nodding distractedly. 

The soft leather was removed quickly, Krem’s smalls following it to the pile of soaked clothing. He stepped into the copper tub, hissing. 

“You good?” Skinner asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“You look tired.” 

“I was in the Storm Coast, Skinner. You know what it’s like there. Wet. Very. Wet.” 

“What was the mission?” She asked, frowning, watching Krem’s stiff movements as he scrubbed at his hair. 

“Couple Reds too close to a camp. Took them out, found out some shit. I’m leaving again tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing a cloth off of the side of the tub and rubbing it with the Elfroot soap they always left here. 

“Tomorrow? Bit soon, don’t you think?” 

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” Krem batted back, looking unconcerned. “Intelligence needs to be checked out.” 

“What’d you find?” She asked. 

“Possible Red Templar camp, I need to go and assess the situation, and take them out if I can. If not, you’ll hear from me.” 

“That seems... A little excessive. You just got back,” she said. 

“We’re short-staffed,” Krem grinned, shrugging. “Cullen trusts me to handle it.” 

“As long as you’re sure...” 

“I’m touched, Skinner, really,” Krem’s grin grew. 

She knocked him lightly across the head. “Finish your bath, I’m gonna let Bull know you’re home.” 

“Tell him I said that he needs to get off his ass and stop drinking!” 

Skinner cackled. “Yes, Ser!” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake...” Krem groaned at the title. 

The door closed with a light click, and Krem finished bathing in silence, the smile slipping gradually from his face. He pulled himself up using the sides of the tub, and grabbed a towel from atop a chair that they used to put them all on. He was careful while patting himself dry, he muscles still sore, even after the warm bath. Cabot could be a freaking angel when he wasn’t being a sarcastic fucker. 

He dressed in some light sleeping clothes, and sat on his bed, taking some time to clean his armour, hoping to the Maker that nothing would rust because of all the rain. Once he was finished, he pulled out some parchment, and penned his report to Cullen; it was short, due to the inactivity while he had been waiting for the Templars to return to their small camp, but it detailed everything necessary. He blew on it, and put it aside to let the ink dry. 

He sat, frozen for a moment, realising he still needed to write a report for Bull. The memories crashed into him, pulling him under like a tidal wave. He’d been so distracted that for a moment... He’d forgotten the horrors. He grabbed more paper, and began, starting from the moment they left Skyhold. 

The mission had been fairly standard up until they’d been overpowered by the ambush. And writing that, knowing what was coming, made a large stone settle in the pit of his stomach. He felt sick. Nausea rolling off of him in unforgiving waves. _Guilty, guilty, guilty. Murderer._

He kept writing, forcing himself to recount the days that haunted his dreams. As he wrote, his mind filled in the blanks of his family’s murders, each gruesome death that never was. These thoughts would never make it to paper. His reports to Bull were fact, and that was all. A play-by-play. He stopped after retelling Skinner’s supposed murder, and wrapped his arm around his stomach. He was going to throw up. The report, still wet with ink, and unfinished, was shoved into his bottom drawer, and he took some deep breaths to calm his stomach. 

Breathing was hard. Especially when your body feels likes it needs to collapse into itself. His muscles were seizing up, his abdomen was taught, and his chest felt tight. There was a hitch in his breath as it struggled in and out of his lungs. He leaned down, bending his chest close to his legs, and took a few breaths, each one calming his racing heart. He counted the seconds he breathed in and out, using the rhythm as something else to focus his attention on. 

It seemed to work, because after a few minutes of the same, repetitive sequence, the tightness in his chest lessened. He carefully sat up, choosing in that moment to pull back the sheets from his bed and lie down on the soft mattress. His aching head was cushioned well by the pillow, so he curled up, pulling the blankets over his body, facing the door; overseer of the entire room. 

He was drifting by the time the door opened, and Bull sauntered in. Eyes half-lidded, he watched the giant of a man look over at him, and creep closer. Bull could be scarily quiet for a Qunari. Krem imagined it was the spy training. Before he’d realised it, Bull was towering over him, and crouching down to look in his slowly blinking eyes. 

The Qunari placed one of his large hands over Krem’s head, smoothing his slightly damp hair down. Krem’s lips parted slightly with the ghost of his usual grin, and his chest suddenly felt a lot lighter, the sick feeling in his stomach reducing considerably. Bull lightly massaged around his temple, somehow, as always, knowing exactly what ailed him. He sighed happily, pressing into the touch. Bull let out a low chuckle. 

“Headache, Krem?” 

Krem nodded minutely against Bull’s hand. The Qunari slipped his fingers down to the base of Krem’s skull and pawed at the skin there. Within mere moments, Krem’s eyes slipped the rest of the way closed. 

“Glad you got back safe,” Bull murmured. “Cullen says you’re going out again?” 

Krem nodded. 

“Be careful,” Bull said. 

“I will,” Krem whispered back, on the very edge of sleep. 

“Come find me when you’re back, I’ll check you over.” 

Krem hummed noncommittally, and Bull kept his touch gentle until the younger man drifted off to sleep. 

The sun hadn’t yet risen when Krem left the barracks the next morning. Report for Cullen in hand, and fully dressed in his armour, he closed the door on his sleeping teammates. Cabot was behind the bar in the tavern, putting away a new delivery of wines and beer. 

“Morning, Cabot, need a hand?” Krem asked, kindly. 

Cabot looked back at him with a smile. “Not with this, but I heard you’re heading out again today?” 

“Yeah, anything I can do for you?” 

“I got word that a couple bottles of our whiskey are ready to be picked up. I have a supplier out in the Hinterlands. Mind grabbing them on your way back? Inquisition camp near the farm should have them,” Cabot sighed. 

Krem grinned lightly at the man. “No problem. I’m off, then. Let Bull know if he asks?” 

“Safe travels,” Cabot said, turning back to the shelf of wine above the bar. 

Krem left the tavern, walking through the courtyard and up towards Cullen’s office. There was still a candle lit inside, the glow casting its warm light across ground under his door. He knocked lightly, calling out in a quiet voice. 

“Cullen?” 

“It’s open,” Cullen called back. 

Krem pushed the door, wincing at the squeak of its hinges so early in the morning, and walked across the small room to where Cullen sat at his desk, his head in one palm, and his eyes trained on a report he was reading. He glanced up when Krem neared. 

“Morning already?” 

Krem gave a smirk and flicked his gaze to the darkness outside. “Just about,” he handed over the report he’d completed the night before, hoping the tremble in his hand wasn’t too obvious. 

Cullen took it with thanks, and flicked over Krem’s writing, brows furrowed. “They’re getting sloppy.” 

“They think they’re winning. But we know differently. If this mission bears anything good, the scales will tip quite well here, Commander,” Krem commented. 

The blond sighed, looking at Krem with kind eyes. “Are you quite sure you don’t need back-up?” 

“Quite,” Krem grinned. “I’ll be fine, you’ll hear from me again soon.” 

“Krem,” Cullen started, quite suddenly, looking serious. “You know what happened isn’t your fault, yes?” 

The Lieutenant startled, looking at Cullen with confusion. 

“I’ve heard bits and pieces of what happened, you made the best of a bad situation, and you all came out fine. They’re dead, and you’re all okay,” Cullen continued. 

“I know.” 

“As long as you’re sure. I’m here if you need to talk, but I understand wanting to just _forget_ about it. If you need anything, even another mission, I’ll do what I can.” 

“Thank you, Cullen,” Krem said, sincerely. “I’m going now, if you don’t hear from me within the week, you know what to do.” 

“Good luck, Lieutenant. Stay alive.” 

“And you, Commander,” Krem said, walking out of Cullen’s door. 

The warrior’s next stop was the stables, where he procured the tan warmblood that Dennet had set up for him. The stable boy wished him safe travels as he mounted, and he was through the gates of Skyhold just as the first lights of dawn crept into the edges of the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

“Lace Harding, you’re still out here?” Krem asked with a grin as he slipped from his horse, pushing back the hair plastered to his forehead. “Thought you’d moved on when I didn’t see you at the border.” 

Harding looked up at him through the downpour. “I’m not needed to scout out a new location yet, so I thought I’d stick around, be a friendly face. We got a missive this morning telling us you were coming, I relocated to this camp hoping you’d be here.” 

Krem’s grin slipped into a warm, thankful smile. “Thanks, Lace. That means a lot.” 

Harding punched his arm. “Don’t get sappy with me,” she coughed, clearing her throat. “Now, what exactly do you need to do?” 

Krem crouched down in the rain, with Lace following suit. In hushed tones, he explained what he’d found only days prior. 

“There’s a camp nearby?” Harding questioned, something dark in her tone. 

Krem nodded. “There should be. The Commander sent me back out here to finish the mission. If the camp exists, and it’s as small as we think it is, I’m taking them out. If not, we send for back-up.” 

“And if... something goes wrong?” 

“Then I’ll come back here. Don’t frown at me, Lace, I’ll be fine,” Krem said. “I’ll use this as base camp, leave a few things here, and if you don’t hear from me within the next couple of days, send word to the Commander.” 

“Sounds serious,” the redhead commented. 

“Only a little,” Krem grinned, feeling the pit return to his stomach. Distracting yourself was all well and good, but, not for the first time, Krem wondered how long he could keep running under the guise of being helpful. He felt stretched thin, and if the anxious look on Harding’s face was anything to go by, others were starting to notice that something wasn’t quite right. 

“We have a tent set up for you, didn’t know how long you’d be staying,” Lace said, nodding her head over to a tent near a sheltered fire. “Despite the rain, we’re pretty well set up here, and the fire’s kept going as much as possible. Though, most of us have given up trying to stay dry.” 

“Thank you, I’ll just put a few things away, and then get going. I’ve spent far too much time getting rained on this week,” Krem said. 

Harding laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Krem got up from the ground with a smile, patting the dwarf on the shoulder as he passed by her. He led his horse to a stake in the ground by his temporary living quarters, and tied her reigns to it. He grabbed two of the saddlebags from the warmblood, and patted her flank. Ducking inside the tent, he paused in the opening, not wanting to soak any of the bedding the scouts had managed to get together for him. 

He flipped open the first bag, seeing a few medical provisions that he kept with him, they were frequently replenished by Stitches anytime the man could check over the company’s personal supplies. It also held the Chargers’ black book, and several pieces of parchment and writing utensils. The second carried a change of clothes, light and unrestricting, things he wore under his armour. He put them near the makeshift bed, and exited the tent. 

He held a hand up in farewell to Scout Harding as his warmblood galloped out of the camp with him atop her back. On a hunch, he headed southwest, the north was clear by now, and his last mission here had taken care of the Templars hiding out near their central camp. But there’d been no word of movement across the river, and this was more concerning than anything. 

It was a couple hours hard ride across the slippery terrain on the ‘Coast, but, river in sight, Krem breathed a sigh of relief. Being left alone with his thoughts and the everlasting downpour of relentless rain was enough to drive him back to caged cave-corners. But he had a mission to focus on, and the wind pushing abruptly past him, pulling at his hair and clothes. It was enough to remind him that he was alive. Enough to remind him that he was fighting to keep the other Chargers safe. He was out here so that they could rest easy and heal from the ordeal of captivity. He saw their unspoken struggle in the extra nights they stayed late in the tavern, in the way their eyes darkened when they thought no one was looking. They’d never be taken again. He’d die first. 

A shrill whistle caught his attention, it echoed, bouncing off of stone walls, and with that, he knew exactly where he needed to go. 

“Amateurs,” he said under his breath, bringing his warmblood down to a quiet walk. 

She was a stealthy horse, he’d give Dennet that. He’d have to thank the man by getting his delivery back to him as soon as possible. Krem eyed the entrance to the cave with distrust, and tightened the grip he had on his horse’s reigns the moment he felt his hands begin to shake. There was nothing to be anxious about. All he needed to do sneak around, see if he needed back-up, fight, and leave. Simple, he’d been doing it for years now, even before his time in the army. Deep breath. 

He dismounted, leaving the mare lightly tied to a tree in case a quick getaway was needed. The entrance to the cave was alight with torches of fire, and the mere sight of them made a nauseated feeling creep up from Krem’s stomach to his throat. He swallowed, rapidly, trying to stave off the need to be ill. Before he ducked under the cover of rock, he tilted his head to the sky, catching the rain on his face with closed eyes, as if it was the last time he’d feel such a thing. The trees sways ominously, dangerously, around him, their branches whipping at each other in the wind. Each smack sounded far too much like the noises he heard in his dreams, and so, against his better judgement, he ducked into the cave. 

“Password!” A voice lazily called. 

Krem cleared his throat. “ _Potestatem_ ,” his voice was deep, and his accent entirely off. Dorian would have a field day with the badly pronounced Tevene. 

“I’m going off-duty, wake me if we get attacked,” said the voice, fading into the distance. 

Krem let out a grunt of agreement, and turned the corner, running into a metal gate the Templars had left jarred open. It creaked quietly as he pushed it open, the sound causing him to wince lightly, and look around to make sure no one was coming. The cavern was empty; the only movement was the flickering dance of the torches on the walls. 

He walked along the path, stiff-backed, and hyperaware of his surroundings. The sound of something metallic hit the ground in the distance, the noise echoing, and making him duck back, body parallel to the wall. When nothing else followed, he moved again, silent in the reverberating sounds of rain. 

The cave was cold, and each breath he took slipped out of his mouth in the ghost of an exhale. Something icy gripped at his fast-beating heart, every inhale only sped up the thumping he could feel in his chest. 

Rounding another corner, a vision he thought he’d only see in his nightmares came into the light. A cage with several dead, decaying bodies inside. Their skin a sickly white, eyes wide open and seemingly staring straight at him. An elf woman lay, half-disrobed, limbs contorted, mouth agape in a scream that would span the centuries of a silent realm. Her features morphed; one moment she was Skinner, another, she became Dalish. His mind screamed, as silent as the woman was, as she could only now be. 

Suddenly, it was too dark, despite the light, and he could feel the scrape of stone against his back, and metal biting into his wrists. Footsteps sounded, and before he realised what he was doing, he rounded on a Red Templar, pulled his dagger out from his waistband, and covered the man’s mouth with a bruising grip. His dagger came up, and the blade slipped across the Templar’s neck. He collapsed, and Krem lowered him down, dragging him around the corner he’d come from. With a deep, shuddering breath, looking down at the infected man, Krem pulled himself back together. He was in control here, he had all of his weapons, and there were no ropes around his wrists, there was no cage keeping him locked in. He shook his head to clear it of lingering thoughts, and got to work. 

The Templar had nothing of interest on his person, so he kept going, moving through the walkways of the cave. There was a small resting area set up, and that was where he found his next target, the man who had asked him for the password, sleeping, as he said he would be. He made quick work of his unaware target, covering his mouth like he had for the other lackey, and plunging his blade into the Templar’s heart. He died wide-eyed, with an expression between confusion, anger, and fear. Krem moved quickly. 

“Oi! Come over here!” He heard in the distance. 

There was a clang as someone in armour dropped to his knees, and Krem realised with a start that someone had found the body he’d left. 

“Intruder!” Someone bellowed. 

There was a rustling noise of confusion from further down the cave, back in the direction Krem had come from. Two, no, three different sets of footsteps. Four men total, then. Not easy, but he did enjoy a challenge. 

Krem snuck back down the cavern, and saw two armoured Templars crouching by the body he’d left. Another leaned against the cage in the centre of the room, and the fourth was stood facing the room, with his back to Krem, right by the corner that led to the walkway he was in. Krem quickly grabbed the sides of the man’s head, and violently twisted it to the right. His body crumpled, and Krem dragged him around the corner. The Templar’s armour scrapped loudly against the rock of the cave floor. 

“What was that?!” Yelled one of the crouching men. 

Krem pulled his maul off of his back and came into the light, grinning. 

“Afternoon, lads. Looking for me?” He said, clutching at the handle of his weapon. 

The Templar near the cage charged at him, and it was all too easily for Krem to swing his maul into the man’s chest cavity, the sound, like a watermelon being split open, was loud in the quiet of the cave. The Templar immediately dropped to the ground, convulsing before going still. 

The other two came at him, teeth bared, skin dyed red; from anger, or infection, Krem couldn’t tell. The first, with a half-cracked helmet, came at him from the front, swinging his hammer wildly. Krem fended off his attack, but couldn’t do anything about the second Templar who went around his side and grabbed at him, holding him in his grasp. Krem struggled as the first man came closer. 

The Templar swung his hammer, aiming for Krem’s head, but at the last moment, the warrior managed to turn in his friend’s grip, taking the brunt of the attack to his left shoulder with teeth-clenching force. 

In the time it took for the first Templar to realise his attack hadn’t worked, Krem had forcibly pulled himself from the other man’s arms, and swung back his maul, letting the momentum swing his weapon forward into the first Templar’s head. His helmet broke off of his head, and he collapsed to the ground. In that same second, Krem kept spinning, pivoting on his foot, and crashing the head of his maul into the other Templar’s side. The man fell to his knee, gasping. Krem stood over him, pulled out his small blade, and slit his throat. 

Breathing heavily, Krem backed up to the wall, slipping down into a crouch, and leaning on his maul with his right hand, his left arm dangling down near his hip. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, and his eyes closed as he breathed through his mouth. Each breath sounding more like a gasp, uneven, and ragged on each intake. His shoulder burned, and felt uncomfortably warm. He used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow and tried moving his shoulder, but even the smallest twitch made him flinch. Using his right hand, he pushed himself up on the wall, and shouldered his maul, letting it slip back into place on his back. He put his dagger back in his waistband, and stood for a moment, listening to the silence of the cave. 

He looked over at the caged bodies, and made a split-second decision. The Chargers never left a family wondering if their loved ones were coming home or not, they made a point to give anyone closure if they could. Such is the horrible bane of war. He walked over to the cage and nudged it open, kneeing down next to the body of the elven woman and carefully closing her sightless eyes. Her hand was clenched in a loose fist, so he lightly pried it open. A slip of paper, words written entirely in Orlesian. A servant, then. Likely no one to miss her. He sighed, sadly. He pocketed the page, hoping something would come of it. Perhaps they would find someone who was missing her. Even if it was her master. 

The two men next to her were badly cut up, showing all the signs of struggling through torture. He breathed through the smell of their blood, and closed their eyes too. Judging by their clothes, servants also, but human. Krem shook his head and stood, there was nothing more to do here. 

The ride back to camp was painful, each rise of his horse jarring his shoulder, which lay limply in his lap, but the rain felt cool against his fevered skin. He knew, logically, that he needed to get out of the rain before he got ill, but if he rode any faster, the journey would be unbearable. 

Scout Harding waved at him as he neared, standing at the edge of the camp near a torch. A leading light in the darkness for lost souls. He dismounted one-handed, and smiled at her. 

“Good to see you back in one piece!” She said over the rain, the light from the torch making her red hair seem brighter than usual. 

“Debatable,” Krem said as he wavered. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Got a medic?” 

Harding gave him a concerned look, and shook her head. “No, but I’m trained, what do you need?” 

“My shoulder’s dislocated, could do with popping it back in,” the warrior said, nonchalantly. 

“Anything else?” Lace asked, wide-eyed, coming closer to him. 

“A few bandages, and some strong-ass alcohol. This is gonna hurt like a bitch.” 

They walked into the camp side by side, Krem lightly leading his horse. She was taken from him by another scout, led off to be dried and fed. 

“You got it. Stay the night, would you? I can’t let you go back out there in good conscious. Get some rest first,” Harding said. 

Krem thought on it for a moment, biting at his lip. If he stayed still for too long, he started to feel anxious, like waiting for the only other door in the room to open. He dropped his head with a sigh. “I make no promises, but if I fall asleep, I’ll stay until I wake up.” 

Lace motioned at another scout, who nodded, and ran over to their supply chest. Krem ducked into his tent, and stripped off his armour one-handed, with sure movements one got from years of practice. He sat in the clothes he wore beneath his armour, his arm laying uselessly in his lap, and breathed in measured counts to combat the pain. 

Harding walked into the tent and knelt at his side, laying bandages and a flask next to him. Krem opened his eyes, not realising he’d closed them. Harding passed him a leather glove, which he took with a nod of thanks. 

“Just pop it back in, I’ll bandage everything after I’ve slept a little. I feel like I’ve been hit with a hammer.” 

“Krem!” 

“C’mon, that was a little funny!” Krem turned his head to look at her. “No?” 

“No. Now stay still, and bite the damn glove.” 

Krem did as he was told, pushing the leather into his mouth and biting around it. Harding placed one hand against the back of his shoulder, and clasped the other over his upper arm. 

“One... Two... Thr–” She cut herself off, tugging the joint back into place with a _pop_. 

Krem ground his teeth into the fabric of the glove, clenching his eyes closed. The burning subsided, and he let the glove drop from his mouth, taking deep breaths. 

“Here,” he opened his eyes to see Lace passing him the flask. 

He took a deep drink of the warm liquid, feeling the burning trail it left down his throat. He sighed. 

“Thanks, Lace,” Krem said. 

The dwarf patted his uninjured arm. “Anytime. I’ll drop some food in for you later.” 

Krem grinned in thanks, watching as she left through the flap of his tent. As soon as her footsteps moved away, he tugged his wet clothing off, and set about bandaging up his shoulder, focusing on tightening the strips of fabric around the joint to ensure it healed correctly. It’d be easier to hide under his clothing this way. As soon as he finished, he went about cleaning the blood off of his skin, and drying off with a towel that’d been placed with his bedding. Redressing was an adventure one-handed, and he felt fairly exhausted by the end of the ordeal. 

Mind too active, he pulled out the Chargers’ black book, flipping to the latest pages that detailed the last group mission, which Bull had signed off on as being completed, but still awaiting a mission report. Krem moved to the next page and started filling in mission details for both of the ones he’d taken for Cullen, and the unfinished one he’d taken for Cabot. A job was a job, it all went in the books, no matter how big or small. He signed off the first, noting that the report was with Cullen, and signed off the third, knowing that there was nothing left to this mission than to get back to Skyhold and report to Cullen again. Cabot’s he left blank, he’d fill it in when the mission was actually complete. 

As he closed the book, Scout Harding opened up his tent and walked in with a bowl. She knelt down to him and handed him the steaming stew. It was only then that Krem realised how hungry he was. Food hadn’t seemed at all appetising to him lately, and he’d been surviving on travel-food; nuts, bread, and fruit, mainly. 

“Here, eat, and then sleep! You’ve got these bags under your eyes that are making me question how hard the Inquisition is working you. Or Bull. Do I need to talk to someone? I’ll fight them.” 

Krem laughed at the overprotective tone in Lace’s voice. 

“You’re a good friend, Lace, but I’m fine. Just finding it difficult to sleep lately, nothing to worry about.” 

Harding hummed. “If you’re sure...” 

“I’m sure, but thank you. Go get some rest yourself, I know your shift’s over.” 

The redheaded dwarf grumbled. “Fine, I’m going, I’m going!” 

Krem smiled softly as she left, turning to the stew she’d brought him and quickly eating it. He felt full, fuller than he had in days, and sighed, feeling ill. He dropped the bowl onto the ground, still half-full with chunks of vegetables and meat. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him with a crawling sensation in his stomach, and a tightness in his chest. His vision swam, and he blinked several times to clear it, before deciding that resting would be the best course of action. Crawling into the bedding that the camp had supplied, he blew out the lantern keeping the tent lit, and settled down to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Dreams of merging elven faces, bloodied, and wide-eyed plagued him, and he woke with a gasp a short time later. Still seeing the woman’s sightless irises in his mind. He could hear the chatter of the camp around him, only one or two scouts that were still awake on the night watch. He repacked his things, and shoved on his armour and boots. 

Quickly penning a note to Lace, he walked out of the tent, and rolled his shoulders lightly, testing the range of motion in his left one. It twinged, but it was manageable. Moving over to the campfire, he passed the note to one of the scouts, he was young, and unlikely to forget about an order given by someone he considered “higher up”. He left explicit instructions to hand the note to Harding when she awoke, and walked over to his horse, untying her, and leaving the camp. 

He headed north, towards the Hinterlands, the rain and coldness of the ‘Coast waking him up fully. The ride was long, as he knew it would be, and the rough terrain did nothing to help his injured shoulder, but for some reason, he couldn’t help but feel like it was deserved. 

As the rain cleared, and he crossed the boarders into the green hills, morning finally broke across the sky. He slowed his mare to a walk, hoping to avoid any fights while he was so exhausted, and wanting to finish Cabot’s job so he could get back to Skyhold and sleep. 

The notion of sleeping concerned him, he feared that all he’d see would be the elven woman’s face mixed in with the two women from his team that he considered family. A layered nightmare that took the worst imaginings of his mind and smashed them together. He shivered. He never wanted to sleep again. 

He spotted an Inquisition camp hidden inside an area thick with trees, and stopped. A soldier waved him over, recognising him, and seeing the Inquisition insignia on his horse. 

“Ser! We just received word, any chance you can handle this?” The helmed man said, saluting, and passing him a note. 

_Soldiers,_

_There are reports of wolf attacks on the nearby trade route, if feasible, dispatch the creatures at once._

_You are all the Inquisition,  
Commander Cullen Rutherford_

“I’ll take care of it, Scout. Send word back to the Commander,” Krem ordered. 

Kicking off, he carried on north, the trade route was exactly where he needed to go, there was another camp there that stored goods for Skyhold that were awaiting collection.

The sound of bestial growls carried itself on the wind as Krem rode closer. There was a cart spilled over in the road, abandoned, and trails of blood were visibly streaked in the dirt. He pulled his horse to a stop, and quickly dismounted, drawing his maul from his back with a wince. The white wolves stopped, and the small pack stared at him for a moment, before pushing back on their haunches and pouncing towards him. He moved, twisting to the side, and their teeth snapped at the space where he’d been. 

It was a dangerous dance of claws and teeth, but the wolves’ movements were easy to predict. Their fangs gleamed in the sunlight, and he aimed his half-powered swings towards them. Luck seemed to be on his side today; had it been a full-sized wolf pack, he’d already be dead. One large swing took out two of the beasts in the same blow, and another took out a third; their whimpers of pain echoed across the hills. Two came at him at the same time, both going for his hands, and he couldn’t do much more than drop his weapon and fall onto his back. Another sat, just in his field of vision, waiting, almost sneering at him. 

The wolves snapped at him, their deranged stares meeting his. The first, he held by the muzzle, and bodily threw against a nearby tree. A sharp pain in his forearm and leg alerted him to the remaining two biting into his flesh. When the other had pounced to join its mate, he didn’t know, but his shoulder burned as he reached around to wrestle his dagger out from his waistband. He rolled, pinning both wolves to the ground beneath him.

“You like that? Get a good taste!” He grunted, plunging the dagger into the wolf’s side, and its jaw release his arm. Quickly flipping around, he did the same to the wolf pinned by his knee. It lay still, limp. 

He stood, breathing in pants, blood dripping from the bites on his left arm and leg; their fangs had dug deep. He wandered over to his horse, who had spooked slightly, but was easily calmed, and pulled out a roll of bandages and the flask that Harding had given him. With a grunt, the bandages lodged in his mouth, he opened the flask and poured the alcohol onto the bitemarks. He flinched at the burning sensation, clenching his teeth around the roll of fabric, biting back a scream. 

Breathless, he let the bandages fall from his mouth into his hand, and tucked the flask away. Shucking off his gauntlet, he expertly wrapped the bitemark, tugging the bandage around his forearm with his right hand. He did the same for the bite on his calf, and replaced the pieces of his armour that he’d removed. Absentmindedly, he took one of the only Elfroot potions he carried and swallowed in down in large gulps, before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth with a heavy sigh. 

Mounting his horse, he kicked off again, further down the trading route to the next Inquisition camp. He stopped next to the requisition table, and the scout there looked up at him. 

“Krem! Here for Cabot’s delivery?” 

He grinned, albeit, weakly, and nodded. “Yeah, told him I’d grab it on my way back through.” 

The scout grabbed a package from underneath the table, and moved to open one of Krem’s saddlebags. “Here, I’ll pop them in this one, should be fine for the rest of the journey back to Skyhold.” 

“Thanks, stay safe out here!” Krem said, kicking off again. 

“You, too, Ser!” The scout called after him. 

He nodded at the guards standing on the bridge into Skyhold as he passed them, his warmblood walking steadily across the stone. The familiarity of the open walls comforted him, there was something quite disconcerting about the everlasting night of the Stormcoast, and he was glad to be back where things made some semblance of sense. 

As he slid from his horse, collecting his things once he was firmly on the ground, he looked towards the tavern, as was habit, and froze. The image of the elven woman’s blank eyes danced in front of him, taunting, causing a chill to race up his spine. His wrists ached like they hadn’t in days, feeling like thick rope was tied too tightly around them, rubbing into his raw skin. 

He took an unsteady breath, and focused on the deep imprints of wolf teeth that marred the limbs of his left side. They did not exist inside caves with cages. They were made outside, after both of these events had occurred. He was not in a cave, there was no cage, there were no infected Templars. 

The wind blew, reaching out, caressing his face. He closed his eyes against it, turning his head to face the sky and intaking a lungful of air. On his exhale, his eyes opened, and he walked towards the tavern, steeling his body, focusing on the noise of life around him, rather than the pain. The sun is bright, and low in the late afternoon sky. 

All the Chargers will be in the Tavern by now, and knowing that, his skin tingles, sets itself on fire. He needs to see them. If anything can erase the newest nightmares from his mind, it’s seeing them alive. In the throes of living. With ale-flushed faces, and their mouths wide in laughter; joy in their eyes. 

He pushes the tavern door open, heading straight to the bar and pushing Cabot’s delivery onto its surface. 

“Mission accomplished, Serah,” he grins, fighting the urge to look over at the group of people he can sense on his right. 

Cabot accepts the two glass bottles with a scowl. “I’ll thank you not to call me that, Krem.” 

Krem salutes him, and turns to the Bull’s corner. There they are. Half-drunk off their asses, and lounging across all available surfaces, but _there they are_. And there’s Bull, all power, and comfort, and acceptance, and Krem wants to go to him. Wants so badly. But the weight settles everywhere: in his stomach, in his chest, pounding away in his head, and stiffening his limbs. He stands there, blankly, looking at them. They haven’t noticed him yet. His eyelids clench themselves shut, and he turns his head away, clenching his left fist, tightly. The ache that action causes spreads up his arm, past the bitemark, up through his shoulder, and battles against the weight in his chest. 

He turns towards the barracks and walks away. He doesn’t deserve their love. Head down, he can feel Bull’s eyes on him, he always knows when Bull’s watching. He doesn’t look back. 

He shuts the door behind him, Bull won’t come to him, he knows this, but it still aches. If anyone could lighten the hurt imprinted in his heart, his mind, his body, his _soul_ , it would be Bull. He focuses on the need to clean and redress his wounds. Walking over to Stitches’ bedside table, he liberates two injury kits, knowing that, between them, he should have more than enough equipment to fix himself up.

It was strange to put his maul down, and stranger still to take his armour off. He tried putting his dagger away, but he felt vulnerable and unattached without it, like he would fall or float away. It had been the first thing Bull had given him, all those years ago, back when he’d been too young to be _in_ the army, let alone running away from it. 

He’d had no weapon, no way to defend himself in a fair fight, and this huge, bulking Qunari gets up, stands in between him and his attackers, takes a hit that would have meant his end, and helps him up with a smile afterwards. Once they’d left the tavern, Bull had slipped the dagger into Krem’s grasp and told him to keep hold of it. It’d been the nicest and most confusing thing anyone had ever done for the ex-soldier. It was a debt not easily repaid. He put the dagger on his bedside table, always in the corner of his eye. 

Krem undressed, cleaning himself off, focusing on the bloodied wounds that he’d done nothing but disinfected on the road. The poultices that he pulled out of the injury kits stung, but the sharp pain made him focus. Once the bites were clean, he took a deep breath, and let it out as a long sigh, leaning against the outside rim of the copper tub in the corner of the room. He stood there, bare other than his smallclothes, and realised how tired he truly was. Running had once been easy, but how does one from their own mind? He didn’t have an answer, and neither did the small dregs of water left in the bottom of the tub from his bath. 

Straightening himself up, he dressed his wounds, and wound tight bandages around his shoulder again. It burned with overstrain. He dumped the waste of the injury kits in his bottom draw, eyeing the report that he didn’t hadn’t completed and shaking his head. He couldn’t deal with those thoughts right now. Dragging on some long sleeping clothes to cover his obviously battered form, he crawled into bed. His head hit the pillow, and he closed his eyes. 

He was still awake hours later, when the sun no longer lit up the insides of his eyelids in a dark shade of red that was all too familiar to his eyes. The door opened, but it was the lack of footsteps that made him realise that it was Bull. He kept his facial expression relaxed, and kept breathing in even breaths. 

“Weren’t you going to look the lad over?” He heard Rocky say. 

Bull let out a very obvious sigh, and for a moment, Krem thought he’d been made. But the sigh carried a fond tone that he’d heard so many times from Bull. 

“No, not tonight. He’s sleeping. Poor bastard’s been getting rained on for most of the past week, let him rest.” 

“He looks tired, you gonna talk to him soon?” 

“As soon as he lets me.” 

“Y’know, Chief,” Stitches said from somewhere across the room. “Sometimes waiting for someone to come to you isn’t the best idea.” 

He heard them get into their beds, some sitting, some laying down. He listened to their movements, assured himself that they were there. 

“And sometimes, what people want, and what they need, are two entirely different things. When he comes to me, we’ll talk,” the Qunari said. 

Krem wanted to scream. 

Instead, he lay there, and waited for the stillness of night that came only when almost all of Skyhold was sleeping. Only when that happened, did he sit up in his bed, the sheets pooling around him, and survey the room. All his teammates were sleeping, and with that knowledge, he got up, quietly changed back into day clothes, and grabbed his report from _the mission_ , and some extra pages to pen his reports to Cullen. Almost as a second thought, which he blamed his tiredness for, he grabbed the black book, his ink and his quill too. 

He went out into the tavern, marvelling at the quietness that the empty room brought, and sat at one of the tables with the candle still lit. Cabot didn’t like leaving the place in total darkness, there were people living in the rooms, after all. 

Opening the half-finished report, Krem stared down at the pages filled with his words, and began to write again. There wasn’t much to tell after where he’d left off, so he did his best to dissociate, and finish the report. His eyes stung with tears he didn’t allow himself to shed. The last page of the report sounded strange, as he knew it would, he’d been so out of it by the time Bull had found him, that he’d questioned if his rescue was real, or a trick his mind had decided to inflict upon him. 

Before he slipped the report into its paper cover, he added one last thing. A small note, tucked in between the pages. His apology. Bull would likely read into those few words more than the entire report. His eyes started burning again, his chest tightening. He closed the report hastily, and moved onto the ones he needed to write for Cullen. 

It was almost dawn when he closed the second of Cullen’s reports, sighing, and shaking out the cramp in his scarred hand. He left Cullen’s pages on the table, and picked up his writing utensils, and Bull’s report, sneaking back into the barracks. 

He wasn’t in the room long, only long enough to put away the report in his bottom draw and pick up his dagger, tucking it into the back of his breeches. He left as quietly as he came, not noticing that Skinner had been awake and watching him with curious eyes. 

Krem picked up his reports on the way back through the tavern, and walked towards Cullen’s office. He knocked, and surely enough, there was an answer. 

“Enter,” came the Commander’s voice. 

Krem pushed the heavy door open, watching the blond look up with an expression that was a mixture of exhaustion and surprise. 

“Another late night, Commander?” He asked. 

“Cremisius, I wasn’t aware you were back,” Cullen said in surprise, coming around the desk to meet him. 

The Commander grasped at both of his shoulders, glancing him over. Despite Krem’s pleads to any listening deity, the man noticed his wince the moment it happened. 

“You’re injured,” Cullen stated. 

“I’m fine,” Krem replied. 

“Krem.” 

“It’s fine, Scout Harding popped it back in for me, it’s bandaged up, it’s fine.” 

Cullen squeezed his uninjured shoulder. “You know you’re supposed to keep that immobile for a few days?” 

Krem smiled softly at the concern in the blond’s voice. “I know, I was sleeping, I’ll tie it up later. The bandages are tight enough for now. Anyway,” he held up the reports. “These are for you.” 

Cullen took them, flipping the first one open with a curious gaze. “Already? You may need to give my soldiers lessons. They take days, sometimes weeks, to formally report in. That’s why I end up with so much paperwork. At least half of it is missing or old reports.”

The Commander switched to the second report. “Ah, yes, I got word that you’d taken care of the wolves,” he looked up with a smile. “Thank you for that, we’re rather shorthanded right now. Our men are spread thin.” 

Krem grinned, but it was smaller, less bright, somehow. “Anytime. Commander?” 

Cullen looked up from his desk, which he’d automatically wandered back to after being given the reports. “Yes, Krem?” 

“Get some sleep,” the warrior continued. “You look tired.” 

Cullen gave a short laugh. “Heed your own advice, my friend.” 

Cullen stood still for a moment, as if a stray thought had crossed his mind. 

“I’ve just recalled that Leliana was asking after you yesterday, she may have a mission for you, if you’re up for it?” 

“Strange,” Krem commented. “But sure, I wouldn’t mind heading out again.” 

“If you’re sure, Krem. Don’t push yourself, especially not if you’re injured. We have other men.” 

“If Leliana’s asking for me, it’s something that very few people would be able to do, yes?” Krem said. 

“Bull’s rubbed off on you, you’re far too perceptive,” Cullen sighed. “Yes, in reality, it’s only you or Dorian that could.” 

“I’ll go see her now,” the darker male said, firing off a salute. “Go to bed, Commander.” 

Cullen sighed again. “Yes, Lieutenant.” 

Krem took the long way around to Leliana’s lookout, not wanting to wake Solas, who roomed near the library entrance. She stood, looking out into the lightening sky, one of her crows perched on her shoulder. As he neared, she turned to him. 

“Cremisius, I take it you’ve spoken with Cullen?” She asked. 

“Briefly,” he replied. 

“There’s supposedly a small group of Venatori lurking around the edges of Orlais,” she said, getting right down to it. “Usually, we’d send the inquisitor with Dorian, but they only got back a few hours ago. I was wondering if you’d mind?” 

Krem thought for a moment. “You want me to collect information and off them if I get a chance?”

Leliana stroked the crow. “That would be best. Are you available?” 

“When can I leave?” Krem asked. 

“In a few hours, you look like you could do with some rest,” the spy said, handing him the mission details.

“...You said Dorian’s back?” Krem said, replaying the earlier parts of their conversation. 

Leliana nodded down to the library. “Yes, he’s here.” 

Krem grinned. “Thanks, Leliana. I’ll set out at midday.” 

“Good day, Krem,” she said in farewell. 

Krem crept down the library stairs, all too aware of the time of day it was. After his conversation with Leliana, he was only mildly surprised to actually see Dorian in his usual nook. There was something comforting about the space; no way to be caught off-guard by visitors, expected or otherwise. He couldn’t help but think that was why Dorian had chosen it. The mage in question turned towards him quickly once his footsteps had sounded nearer, he looked drained, but wide awake. 

“Krem, it’s rather late, or early, depending on how you look at it, why aren’t you asleep like the rest of your brood?” The man asked, the candlelight reflecting in his silver irises. 

Krem stepped closer, and dropped into the armchair, wearily. 

“You look exhausted,” Dorian commented, kneeling at his side, and placing his left hand, now aglow with green light, at Krem’s temple. 

“You’ve missed a lot while you’ve been gone, Dorian,” Krem murmured. 

“I suppose you’re speaking of the dread mission-gone-wrong? I’ve been clued in on snippets of what happened. I can only conclude, looking at you, that you’re punishing yourself for it. What has Bull got to say about this?” Dorian said, eyes focused on Krem’s, hand pulsing with magic. 

“He says I did the best I could, and the rest... the rest he doesn’t know about. Or he does, and thinks I deserve it. I know I think I do.”

Dorian’s hand stopped glowing, and Krem felt marginally better. 

“You’re very unwell, my friend. I’ve done what I can. I strongly suggest going to someone who’s a qualified healer, this really isn’t my field. As for how you feel, I protest. Most adamantly. There is obviously more to the mission than you’ve told anyone about, but I assure you, Cremisius, that you, of all men, do not deserve the hurts you are placing upon yourself. Nor would Bull blame you, or want to you to hurt over whatever failings you believe you have committed,” Dorian sighed, brushing back some of the younger man’s hair. “Sleep here, if you cannot find rest elsewhere. I cherish your company, conscious or not.” 

“Thank you, Dori,” Krem slurred, head falling to rest against the curve of the chair. 

“And I will never thank you for that particular moniker,” Dorian smiled, softly. “Rest well, I’ll be here.” 

“...Could you...?” Krem said, eyes shifting to the open archway. 

“No one can see you, that I promise. Now, sleep. You’re going out again soon, yes? I’ll watch over you.” 

Krem glanced at Dorian’s hands, and, surely enough, his left, which was most frequently hidden behind the cover of a book, had a small shimmering glow about it. He sighed, slipping down further in the chair. It wasn’t long until he faded into his dreams.


	10. Chapter 10

Krem awoke with a small start, and the squawk of Leliana’s crows. 

“Damn things,” Dorian said under his breath as he knelt once more at Krem’s side. “How do you feel?” 

“Better,” Krem said, sitting up. “Thank you for...” 

Dorian waved him off. “Don’t mention it. You know where to find me if you ever need a quiet corner to rest. Are you sure you’ll be alright taking on Leliana’s mission alone?” 

“How do you...?” 

“I have excellent hearing,” Dorian said, his gaze flicking upwards towards Leliana’s domain. 

Krem smiled, just the tiniest upturn of his lips. “I’ll be fine, this... This is something I need to do alone.” 

Dorian stared at him, knowingly, seemingly aging before Krem’s eyes. “Yes, that I can understand. Go on then,” he shooed him. “But remember what I told you.” 

Krem bowed his forehead to Dorian’s, looking deep into the older man’s eyes. This was a southern goodbye, something they’d learnt in the throes of war that didn’t exist in Tevinter. In their homeland, there was no such thing as companionship, only deceit and loss. 

“ _Vitae benefaria_ ,” Dorian whispered. “Go with care.” 

Krem nodded against him, and stood, walking through the archway and down the stone stairs. He noted, as he walked towards the stables, that he felt significantly less shaky than he had before he’d visited Dorian. His shoulder felt less swollen, easier to move, and the areas of his arms and legs that had been bitten didn’t ache as much; the tightness of his broken skin seemed non-existent. A healer the mage may not be, but he was damn good at it. 

He returned to the rooms in the tavern, empty now; the sheets of the beds tucked in, and the armour stands empty, except for his own. He made his way over to his stand, removing the pieces and easily tying them in place. He pulled the black book from his top draw, and spent some time filling in the next blank mission page. Once finished, he replaced it, easily found, on top of his shirts, and grabbed his maul from beside his bed. He started to make his way towards the door, but stopped, suddenly, at Stitches’ bedside. On a whim, he quickly plucked two injury kits from the healer’s draws. With a whispered promise to replace all the equipment he’d used, he walked from the room, continuing out of the tavern. 

Dennet was waiting outside the stables for him this time. A dark grey horse of medium build, with a black mane and tail, waited patiently at his side. The gruff man passed him the reigns with a sigh.

“I’ve had more requests for you than any other soldier in the past week, Krem, it’s a tad concerning.” 

Krem mounted the thoroughbred, securing his already packed saddlebags. “I wouldn’t worry, I just happen to be around to do a few missions.” 

“Still...” Dennet said, scratching at his chin. 

“I’m off, Dennet, thanks for the horse!” Krem said, kicking off, and trotting through the gates. 

The ride north to Orlais took around a day, and Krem stopped periodically every few hours to give his horse time to rest and eat. By the time they'd reached The Heartlands, it was deep into the night, and the moon, bright as it was, shone down on him from above, acting like a guiding light. For a split second, Krem wished that he'd stopped at the last Inquisition camp in Emprise Du Lion, but the thought went away quickly. He wouldn't be able to rest even if they had stopped. 

Seeing that his thoroughbred was done drinking, he mounted again, and carried on north, quickly reaching the winding path across the small stretch of the Waking Sea that would take him across to Orlais. There was a sharp chill in the air that made him shiver, but it kept him alert as he crossed the narrow path. It was a road that wasn't used often anymore, as broken up as it was. Parts of the road had long crumbled into the sea, built over by bridges that, in some places, had rotting wood. 

At the fork in the road, he steered his horse left, and carried on down to the small town Leliana wanted him to keep an eye on: Val Floret; just south of Val Royeaux. 

As he rode into the town, he could immediately see why Leliana would be concerned. The air was thick with intent here, and not the good kind. It felt too much like being lost in smoke, reminded him too much of the cage. He already felt trapped. The locals were doing a poor job of hiding the fact that they were watching him, adverting their eyes whenever he so much as glanced in their direction.

In the dark corners of alleyways, he could see shadows moving, and if he listened carefully, past the bustle of the town market ahead, it was quiet. Too quiet. 

The market was full of life, an obvious source of trade for all the merchants there, as travellers would be more likely to pass through this way on their journey to Val Royeax. He hopped down from his horse, patted his flank, and turned towards the merchant on the end of the stalls. 

“Good day, Serah. I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of this town’s inn?"

The merchant, an elderly fellow with short hair, and a long, grey beard, looked at him with some suspicion; the corners of his eyes crinkling up with crow’s feet as he squinted at him. 

“Not from ‘round here, are ye, lad?” The merchant grumbled, giving him a once-over. “Nevermind, nevermind, long as yer not here t’ cause any trouble, not like those other ones that came through ‘ere and never left. Up that way,” he pointed north, gesturing with a weathered hand. “Second left, can’t miss it. Tell ‘em old Tom sent y’ up. Ye don’t seem the kind t’ cause trouble. But I’ll be keepin’ my eye on ye’ all the same.” 

Krem bowed, low; lower than anyone would bow to a small-town merchant. The surprise showed on Tom’s face. 

“Appreciated, Serah,” he said, and slipped a hand into one of the pouches at his hip, withdrawing a gold coin. He passed it over, noting how the merchant clung to it. “For your troubles, Ser. Take care.” 

Krem took his horse by the reigns, and led him through the narrow streets, keeping his eyes trained ahead, and his head raised. The steely look he knew he had on his face would steer any trouble-makers away; you could never be too careful in small towns like this. 

The inn was fairly easily to find, standing as tall as all the other buildings in the long streets, and firmly nestled on the corner of the second left north of the marketplace, just as Tom had said. This boaded well, Tom could be a potential ally in Krem’s time out here, along with the small number of Leliana’s agents that were sure to be milling about like locals, blending in the way they were trained to. But this meant that they wouldn’t be any large amount of help to him, he wouldn’t be here very long, and they were likely stationed here often, they couldn’t risk blowing whatever cover they’d built for themselves here. 

Next to the inn was a stable, manned by two elves who seemed more tired than not. He felt bad handing his steed off to them, but the smile on their faces when he slipped the two of them a couple gold coins each was worth more than he could put in to words. He thought, for a moment, that it could be worse for them, at least they had a decent job, but in that same train of thought, he was hit with the undeniable truth that they still wouldn’t be paid fairly. A servant’s wage. Coin that was so meagre that it may as well not exist. 

He knew about Dorian’s plans to abolish slavery in Tevinter, had even helped him research the laws some nights, and could only hope that Orlais would follow suit and treat their servants with the respect and decency they deserved. He thought back to Dorian with a smile. There was a man with a heart as large as the Chief’s, and as unexpected, too. 

A stray thought popped into his head, reminding him that he should probably check on his half-healed wounds. He knew Dorian had sped the process along, but he hadn’t had a chance to look at them and see what state they were in. 

He walked inside the aged building of the inn, noting the poor workmanship on the front door’s latch. There was a middle-aged woman at the desk directly in front of him, strands of firey hair had fallen free of her bun, and hung loosely about her lightly tanned face. She was looking down at a large piece of parchment, filled with soft writing in colums, no doubt her own. 

As he walked closer, she looked up with a thin-lipped smile, and a kindness in her tired eyes. 

“Welcome, Serah. Looking to stay with us?” She asked, her brow ever so subtlely raised. 

Krem bowed at the waist, looking up through his bangs at the woman. Smiling, he replied. “Indeed, Ma’am. An elderly gentleman, old Tom, directed me here. I was hoping to find lodgings for a few days.” 

The woman’s smile became brighter, and there was a small sparkle in her eyes. 

“Yes, that’d be my husband. He’s a good eye for visitors that find their way to this town. Most just pass through on their way to Val Royeax,” she waves her hand in the air. “No time for small towns, apparently. But that’s why we must attract some attention with our markets, yes? You won’t find our kind of wares in ‘Royeax. Too...” she raised her chin and looked down at Krem, simulating someone of upper class. 

A second passed, and she laughed, Krem along with her. She must have noticed his armour, and the general look of him. None of the Chargers carried any air of nobility or importance, but Krem knew how to play the Game in a way the others couldn’t, so, naturally, it was up to him to do the talking when they went on jobs. The fact that he was ex-military just helped speed the process along. The way he spoke was friendly, but professional. Those of his status identified with him, those below felt easy talking to him, and those above knew they couldn’t mess around with him. It was a perfect combination. 

“Anyway,” the woman said, clapping her hands together. “One room, right? Let’s get you checked in.” 

“Much appreciated, m’Lady,” Krem responded. 

“Oh, Margaret, please. Maggie, if you will.” 

Krem held out his hand, and waited for Maggie to clasp her fingers over his. Once she did, he gently brought her hand to his lips and gave her knuckles a chaste kiss. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maggie.” 

“The pleasure is mine, Ser...?” 

“Cremisius. Krem. And please, don’t concern yourself with titles,” Krem said with a smile. 

Maggie lifted her hand from out of Krem’s grasp, and turned to grab a key off of the wall behind her. She turned back, and placed the key in his palm.

“Room six, hon. If you need anything just let me know, the inn doubles as a tavern, food and drinks are served just through there,” Maggie grinned, and pointed to a door off to the right, and then to the left. “And rooms are that way. Six is the third room on the left.” 

Krem looked down towards the other door on the left, and then redirected his attention at Maggie. “Thank you, Maggie,” he said, bowing again. “I’ll be turning in for the night, it’s been a long journey.” 

“Of course. I’ll see you for the morning meal, hopefully. Enjoy your night, Krem.”

His room is almost too easy to find, and the homeliness of the accommodations make him long for Skyhold for a moment. His bag is dropped to onto the semi-plush bed without a second thought, and he quickly follows its descent. 

He stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes before he huffed under his breath and sat up. His armour is stripped to the floor, and his wounds are checked. His shoulder, though stiff, feels stronger, and the bites and scratches that cover him are closed, leaving only angry pink-red scars behind. His head spins with exhaustion; he decides to call it a night, and after clambering into bed, he falls into disturbed sleep as his head hits the pillow. 

The birds sing for him to wake, and he does so at the crack of dawn, with his dagger in his hand, while his chest heaved with heavy breaths. It takes several seconds for him to realise where he is, and remember why he’s there. 

He dressed in light clothing, and made his way down towards the inn’s tavern for the morning meal. In his pocket, the note in Orlesian from the dead elvhen woman lays, he brushed against it lightly while he walked, to remind himself of its existence. He may have a job to do, but he also has a duty to carry out. 

The tavern is almost empty, there’s a couple in the far corner of the room, cuddled up against each other on a bench made of light wood. One reads from a book, aloud but quietly, while the other listened with intent. They’re elves, young, and happy. The scene lifts some of the darkness from his mind. 

There is a woman sewing near the door, seated with a cup of something hot at a table made for no more than two people, and a man nearby reading a letter with a love-struck grin on his face. 

Krem walked to the bar, and took a seat on one of the stalls. The barmaid ambled out from the backroom, a kind smile on her face, and her auburn hair fixed into a single tail at the back of her head. 

“G’ morning, luv! Specialty this fine day is hotcakes, and I do recommend some warm tea. It’s a bit chilly out today.” 

Krem grinned at her enthusiasm. She reminds him of Bella, back at Skyhold, all cheer in the face of the world’s doom. “Good day, m’lady. That sounds wonderful. If you have any blends with elfroot in them, it would be appreciated. The road hasn’t been kind.” 

The barmaid grinned back, showing off the dimples in her face. “No worries, Serah! I can certainly get that for you. There’s a tea my pop uses when the days ‘ave been long. I’ll be right with y- Good morning, papa!” 

Old Tom slid onto the stall next to Krem, and gave his daughter a wave. “A tea for me as well, Lu.” 

“Gotcha, pop! Be right with you gents!” The door closed behind her with a quiet click. 

Old Tom turned to Krem. “My daughter, Lucinda, but she hates being called by her full name! Such a lively girl. How did you find your room, everything up to snuff?” 

Krem smiled at the old man, seeing the parental joy etched into his face after the short conversation with his child. 

“Everything was perfect, Ser. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to spend the night. I’m far too used to sleeping in tents.” 

“Just Tom, if you please, young’un. I may be old, but I prefer to go without all those titles and such,” the old man smiled at Lucinda as she comes back out to deliver their teas. 

“Should do you a world of good, Serah! Do let me know if you need a refill, it’s on the house,” Lucinda said while she placed a mug of hot tea within Krem’s reach. 

“Thank you, m’lady. I appreciate it. And please, just call me Krem.” 

Old Tom laughed next to him. “Ah, you’re a good soul, lad, I can tell. Lulu, darlin’, would you grab me a hotcake before I get to work?” 

Lucinda waggled her finger, as she twirled back towards the door. “I’ve already got it on the stove, pops!” And with that, she’s gone again. 

Old Tom took a gulp of his tea, and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Drink up, lad. It’ll help whatever aches and pains you’re feeling. Lu mixes the herbs herself. Got smarts, that one.” 

Krem followed suit, and sipped his tea. It’s the perfect temperature, and he can only just taste the elfroot mixed in with the rest of the soothingly herbal blend. The effects must show on his face, because Tom is laughed next to him. 

“Seems like y’ needed that, lad. Feel free to stay and drink a couple cups, Lu won’t mind, she enjoys it when people like her teas.” 

At that, Lucinda appeared again, carrying two plates, both holding two hotcakes each, with a sweet-smelling syrup on top. She placed one in front of Krem, and passed the other off to her father, who stands, and leaned forward so that she can kiss him on the cheek. 

“I’m gon’ go eat with your mother, darlin’. Enjoy your day.” 

“You too, pops!” 

Old Tom lightly patted Krem’s shoulder as he leaves. 

Lucinda looked at the plate in front of Krem, and then looked at him. “Don’t let them get cold, you’ll love them, I swear!” 

Krem took a bite of the warm, fresh hotcakes, and, for a moment, he’s sure that he’ll never taste anything as good again. 

Lucinda laughed. “I’m glad you like them, Ser Krem.” 

“They’re amazing, m’lady– ”

“Just Lu, please.” 

“I’m honestly never tasted something so good. And if I may be so bold, if I am to call you by your chosen name, you must drop the titles from mine.” 

Krem could get used to Lucinda’s laugh. It carries around the room, and makes his heart lighter. 

“Very well, Krem. Tell me, what brings you to our little town?” She questioned, pulling at the ties of her apron to tighten them behind her back. 

Krem sipped at his tea again. “Honestly, I’m looking for someone.” 

Lucinda stepped closer to the bar, intrigued. 

“I work for a group of mercenaries-for-hire, and we got word that there were some strange folk seen going through smaller towns in this area, we’re hoping that someone can point us the right way. They aren’t good people, and...” 

“And...?” Lucinda interjected. 

Krem shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s something you want to hear.” 

“Krem, please, there’s been strange people coming in and out of town for the last couple of weeks, if we’re in danger, we need to know.” 

Krem sighed. “They aren’t good people, Lu. They’ve left behind a lot of broken families.” 

Lucinda gasped. 

Krem pulled out the note that he took from the elvhen woman’s grasp, and pushed it over to Lucinda. She picked it up, and read it quickly. 

“I can read this, this lady worked through here a couple of times, she has a sister in town, what happened to her?” 

“She’s...” Krem closed his eyes. “She didn’t make it. My Orlesian isn’t great, but I wanted to make sure her family knew...” 

Tears built up in Lucinda’s eyes. She passed the note back to Krem. 

“Her name was Dithera, she worked as a servant for a time, but the man who she served died, so she and her sister came to live here. We don’t care much for servitude, but we’re a small town, and we can’t do much about it. Her sister lives a few roads away, next to the field of blue flowers. Her name is Ghilana, she has a little girl, but no other family. The little one, Enasal, is so full of life... In these times of war, she really brightens the place up,” she shook her head. “The note is from her sister, asking her to come home soon.” 

Krem put his head in his hand. “This is not going to be a good day.” 

“How... did she die?” 

Krem’s eyes darkened. “Not in a way I’d want to tell you. Keep her memory alive, and happy. Remember her as she lived, don’t soil that.” 

“And these people you’re looking for, did they...?” 

“No, but we believe they’re part of the same group. The ones that are responsible for the death of Dithera no longer walk among us. I can personally confirm that.” 

“The people you’re looking for... Do they look a little...” Lucinda trailed off. 

“Deformed? Scarred? Glow-y?” 

“...Yeah,” she whispered. 

“That’s them.” 

“They don’t stay here, mama won’t let them, always says we’ve no more rooms when they ask, but there’s a larger inn across town, a bit fancier. Near the trade route, you know it?” 

Krem nodded. “I know it.” 

“Pops has seen a few of them over there. I don’t know if that’s any help but – ”

“M’lady, that is more help that you’ll ever know. I’ve a lot to do today, it seems.” 

Lucinda reached out suddenly, and placed her hand on Krem’s arm as he begins to stand. “Wait, please, let me get you some tea to take with you. It’s the least I can do.” 

Krem bowed. “Thank you, Lu.” 

Lucinda returned in record time, and pushed a flask into Krem’s hands. “It should stay warm for some time. Please try to have a good day. What you’re doing for us... For Dithera... I cannot express enough gratitude.” 

“You’ve a way with words, m’lady, truly. But think nothing of it. It is something I need to do.” 

Krem walked out of the tavern with a heavy heart, and immediately returned to his room for some light armour. He dressed swiftly, armed himself with discreet weapons, and a few provisions, and left quietly. 

The journey to the flower fields was difficult. Each step was daunting. 

Blue flowers seemed too innocent for the news Krem was about to deliver. But then he saw her, a little elfling who danced around in circles, a blue flower crown atop her blonde locks, and he knew that he needed to do this. 

The door seemed to loom over him as he knocked, and when it opened, Krem had to take a few deep breaths to steady himself. Dithera’s sister looked exactly like her; it was like seeing a ghost, seeing the body whose eyes he had closed standing before him. 

“Yes?” Ghilana asked. 

“Pardon the intrusion, m’lady. I am Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi of Skyhold, and I have news of your sister, Dithera.” 

The elf’s hands closed over her heart, and her eyes glistened. 

“Ma’am, I am... so sorry. I was on a mission when I came across your sister and she had a note from you in her hand, I couldn’t... I needed to find you and let you know that she’d passed. That she was thinking of you in her last moments. She didn’t pass alone.” 

Ghilana fell against the doorframe. “How...” She cleared her throat. “She was on an errand, I don’t... I don’t understand.” 

“I truly am sorry, ma’am. But I couldn’t leave her last wishes unfilled,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the crumpled note, holding it out towards the distraught elf. 

Ghilana pushed herself back up, and reached out to brush against the bare skin of Krem’s hand. Her eyes, for a moment, were a bright blue. She keeps her hand clasped over Krem's for a heartbeat longer than it takes to slip the note from his grasp.

“Thank you, Ser Cremisius. In these times of war, closure is all we can ask for. I wish you health.” 

Krem gave a single nod, and the door was shut. 

The silence lasted but a few seconds, and then all he could hear was heart-wrenching sobs of despair. He walked away, and headed up the long road that struck down the centre of the town. He had a job to do.


End file.
